The Tyrant's Antithesis
by The Brother Anton
Summary: REUPLOAD: Major AU Tetsuhiro Morinaga had been letting himself slowly rot away after being imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, but he decides to escape after learning he'll be shipped to a much harsher facility. He flees to Coal, a haven for criminals of all kinds, and it's on this island that he completely reinvents himself—with some help from an outlandishly dressed tyrant.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, readers. Probably not what you expected as a first page, I know, but I feel it's necessary to include this author's note.**

 **Whether you're returning or new, the message is the same, and I plan on putting this at the beginning of all of my re-uploads. I was once really active on here and had way more fics than what I currently do, but for personal reasons I deleted all of my works and closed my account for about a year. I do feel bad that I deleted everything, though, so even if I don't plan on being extremely active on here again, I still feel like I should give you all something.**

 **That something are these: the fics that I deleted. I didn't save the little ones, but I did keep my long AU's, for which I was greatly known.**

 **This AU is...oof. Just...oof. This is probably the most OOC I have for Souichi and Tetsuhiro, so if that's not your thing, go away now because this is...this is a lot. I was going through a phase when I wrote this the first time and it is—it is just excessive.**

 **But, if you do like OOC and AU's, this is the fic for you.**

 **All of that out of the way, I hope you enjoy.**

 **~Anton**


	2. Chapter 2

The scent of blood traveled through the air the way water flowed through a channel. Pickaxes bombarded the stone walls, sending bits of dirt and tiny clouds of dust flying around the points of impact. The wielders of those pickaxes stood in a line of twenty, each linked together by heavy metal fetters that restrained their ankles and waists. The chains stretched far enough for the men to move without much issue, provided they only moved the amount that their task required. If they moved any further, they'd meet resistance, not only from the chains, but from the guards standing behind them, as well. Each held a cudgel in their hands to utilize as a first warning. Usually that was enough, but on the off chance that it wasn't, a gun rested in each belt, and while it was comfortable there, it was by no means unwilling to leave.

Escape was a pipe dream, gone since the day they first stepped into the Rugged Diamond Correctional Facility. That was the official name for it, but everyone in Dyamondix knew it as the Sulfuric Shithole. The first half of the name came from one of the many mines that ran underneath the prison, the sulfur content of which outweighed any other mine in the district; the second came from the grotesque amounts of excrement that lined the ground due to a lack of proper plumbing. Luckily for the twenty men occupying this mine—one that hosted coal deposits—their hours were relatively reasonable, so usually no issues appeared. On the rare occasion that someone did have to blow out their insides, however, a hole in the ground that was connected to a waste pipe served its purpose well enough.

Compared to some of the other punishments and labors the Sulfuric Shithole offered, coal mining was gentle. Their hours were reasonable, with work days only stretching about four hours at a time. Granted, the labor itself was grueling, but it was better to do a harsh task for a short period of time than an average task for a long period of time. That was the mindset of every prisoner, especially the ones in the coal mine at the moment.

Each man here was linked to one another, not just by chains of metal but the chains of fate. Crimes hung under the belts of the prisoners, ranging from theft to rape to assault. Though most prisoners in the Sulfuric Shithole had committed these same crimes, this group was one of a few that had displayed compliance beyond that of the other prisoners.

One member of this group, however, differed from the others. Rather than by losing his trial, Tetsuhiro Morinaga agreed to go to prison without any sort of hesitance or struggle. There wasn't a point in trying, anyway. Those against him were far too strong and far too powerful to win against. It wasn't as if he wanted to be in prison; hell, there was no reason for him to be in prison, either. He'd been accused of rape, but he knew that he'd committed no such crime. The one who'd accused him knew that, too.

Up until his twenty-third year, Tetsuhiro had hopped from lover to lover without being able to keep one for longer than about a month. Nightclubs became his second home, and often times he found himself waking up with a massive hangover in his head and a person—or, sometimes, people—he didn't remember in his bed. All the gay circles knew him for his charm in the streets and skill in the sheets. Of course he enjoyed himself, but it never lasted long. All the love and pleasure he felt faded from his body the moment after he released.

But after meeting Masaki, that all changed.

Tetsuhiro had met Masaki after his friend pointed him out at a bar. On a whim Tetsuhiro approached him, and after a brief conversation and a few drinks, he found Masaki deeply rooted in both his heart and his body. Unlike Tetsuhiro, though, Masaki wasn't nearly as comfortable with his sexuality. Usually he didn't go for the hesitant type, but Masaki's hesitance was so adorable that he couldn't resist snatching him up.

They did have to watch, though. In the year that they'd been together, never once was there a time when the duo wasn't careful. Masaki belonged to a family that ran the largest textile industry in Dyamondix, and the others in his family were nowhere near accepting of homosexuality. The couple lived in constant fear of being caught, a fact that Tetsuhiro despised. But he went along with it regardless. Because for the first time in his life, he loved, and he felt loved. He'd offered to take Masaki away from his family and live with him somewhere else, far from discrimination and hate. After much persuasion, Masaki agreed, and Tetsuhiro began searching for a home where they could live together.

Eventually he found one, and he planned to take Masaki with him at the end of the same week. Days before, Tetsuhiro visited, and the couple had showered each other in intimacy and love...and Masaki's father had filled their hearts with fear and shock.

Whether he did so on a whim or with full intention, Tetsuhiro didn't know, but he did know that Masaki had put on the best display of distress and terror that he'd seen in a long time. Completely nude, Tetsuhiro found himself being beaten by Masaki's father, but before too many of his bones could break, the authorities came. Days later, he was admitted to Dyamondix's largest prison.

The days went slowly at first, and even six months later they still dragged on like a corpse being dragged from battle. Little by little prison life chipped away at Tetsuhiro, formerly so full of life and happiness. But like the coal he currently harvested from the walls of the mine, the pickaxe of betrayal gouged out those emotions, leaving him empty.

He didn't resent Masaki, though. Not entirely, anyway. He understood fully why Masaki had done what he'd done—but that didn't mean that it didn't piss him off. He'd lost the strongest relationship he'd ever had, gotten his heart shredded apart ten times over, had his freedoms stripped away—all because Masaki was afraid of what other people thought about him.

A harsh whistle sounded throughout the tunnel, and instantly all heads turned to the masked overseer. "Work's over," he announced. "Set your tools down and vacate the area."

With sighs and exclamations of relief, the prisoners dropped their axes and shuffled out of the mine. Six guards escorted them out, two in the front, two in the middle, and two in the back. Tetsuhiro stood in the relative middle of the line, but the middle guards were positioned one ahead of him.

After being led up a stone staircase, the collection of inmates entered the Terminal, an area from which all tunnels branched off. Already the second shift of workers prepared for their work, removing their shirts to keep from overheating and pulling on gloves to keep their skin from getting raw. Granted, most of their hands were heavily calloused already, but the pickaxes weren't exactly the smoothest tools in the world.

"Lord, I'm exhausted," a dreamy voice said from behind. A hand placed itself upon Tetsuhiro's shoulder, and a glance to the side alerted him to the shorter, ginger-haired inmate he'd befriended. Hiroto's charge was less severe than Tetsuhiro's, merely the sale of illegal alcohol and a few aphrodisiacs. He'd been imprisoned for about two months, and he was scheduled for release in about two more. Under any other circumstances he would've been placed in a smaller correctional facility, but every now and then Dyamondix's government gave those who had committed minor crimes major punishments in an attempt to lessen the crime rate. Sometimes it worked, but mostly things remained the same.

"You don't look that exhausted," Tetsuhiro replied.

"Well, compared to others, I don't look very exhausted," he allowed. "But I am, believe me."

It was hard to do, since the ginger looked like he hadn't broken much of a sweat. Then again, Tetsuhiro wasn't sweating all that much, either. About a month after he'd started working in the mines, he'd grown used to the work. Not only that, but he'd also learned that he didn't have to put in all of his effort each time he struck the stone. He just needed to _seem_ like he was putting all of his effort into each blow. Dramatizing his grunting had covered his tracks well enough. He wasn't the fastest miner by any means, but he wasn't the slowest, either. Comfortably in the middle, where he wouldn't get beaten by the guards or the other inmates.

"Can't wait to shower," Hiroto continued.

He let out a soft scoff. "What's wrong? You needy again?"

He wasn't looking, but Tetsuhiro knew Hiroto had blushed. "Oh, shut up. I feel hot and disgusting and not in a good way."

Snickering to himself, Tetsuhiro led Hiroto into one of the hallways that connected the Terminal with their cell block. Mirrors hung on all sides, save from the floor. The door behind them closed with a bang. A panel of the mirrored wall extended outward, then slid to the left. Out came two guards dressed in grey, both with a bag on their back. Both prisoners outstretched their arms, and the guards set about patting them down. Though for the most part everyone left the Terminal without any issues, but there were times when that reality wasn't a reality. In Tetsuhiro's six months of imprisonment, there had been two cases of an inmate smuggling a weapon out of the mines. In the first case, it was merely a sharpened piece of coal, but in the second, it was a jagged blade broken off a pickaxe. Surprisingly, the first case had struggled with his meager weapon, and he'd actually managed to destroy a guard's knee cap and land a decent blow to another's shoulder. Regrettably, though, he didn't live long after that, so few had heard the tale directly from him.

After the guards found nothing, they disappeared behind the panel again. Moments later the automated door in front of the inmates opened, and they stepped into the bleak grey cellblock they called home.

"I wouldn't have to be needy if you didn't keep rejecting me," Hiroto mumbled.

Tetsuhiro sighed. "You know why that is."

"I understand that, but it's been six months already. Did he really mean that much to you?"

"Yeah, he did," Tetsuhiro snapped, harsher than he'd meant. "Besides, I'd prefer to not have sex in a place where everyone can see and hear us."

Hiroto tilted his head to the side. "So if we'd met outside of prison you'd consider it?"

Tetsuhiro shrugged. "Possibly. Though at this point it'd just be for blowing off steam. Not for enjoyment."

The ginger's shoulders sagged. "You're so subtle," he mumbled.

"I don't mean it as an offense to you. I just... I don't know. I'm not in the right mindset to have sex, let alone have good sex."

"It's a shame, though. I've heard about your talent a lot."

"Glad to hear my name's traveled so far."

Now it was Hiroto who scoffed. "You sound so convincing."

"I wasn't trying to cover it up. I'm being honest."

"You're being apathetic," the ginger retorted. "Stop wallowing. It's not attractive."

"Who says I wanna be? Have you seen some of the bastards here?"

"Yeah, I know. But at least most of the scary-looking ones are in the Pits."

Tetsuhiro nodded without a verbal reply. Dyamondix was split into four districts: Coal to the north, Ruby to the south, Jade in the east, and Diamond in the west. For all of his life Tetsuhiro had lived in Diamond, the wealthiest and most advanced district in the nation. Industry and economy thrived in Diamonds far more than it did in the other districts, especially Coal. Separated from the other districts by a thin strip of sea, Coal was considered the trashbag of Dyamondix. Originally it had just started out with the Pits, a massive prison community that made up a third of the present-day Coal. The entire island had once been a military base, but a century ago disease struck the island, and in an attempt to eradicate the disease, fires and explosions bombarded the land. Now all that was left were the remnants of what had once been. The building that had once covered the Pits had been blown to bits, but the massive system of halls and rooms underneath it had remained. For the past hundred years prisoners deemed too dangerous for the other districts had been thrown into the Pits, and while at one point it was a hellish place, seventy-five years ago all military personnel left out of fear of the diseases returning, successfully abandoning all prisoners in the process.

Now in the present, Coal was its own district that hosted all varieties of criminals and vigilantes that didn't fit into any of the other districts. At one point Diamond had tried to enact laws for the criminals, but a few wise men hadn't allowed that to occur. Coal had been formed by the criminals, so it would be ruled by the criminals. While Coal was officially part of Dyamondix, the only time it was connected to the other districts was in the event of criminals or prisoners being shipped there to solve overcrowding.

"How long's your sentence here, anyway?" Hiroto asked.

Tetsuhiro shrugged. "Dunno. It's been bouncing around for awhile. It went from ten years to fifty years to twenty years to life to fifty years again—I don't know. As long as I'm not put to death, I'll be all right."

At least, he hoped he'd be all right. Longer than a few more months in this shithole didn't appeal to him much. He was only twenty-three—he didn't want his life to rot away here. He'd already become a shell of his former self; at this rate, he'd be nothing but a pile of dust by the year's end.


	3. Chapter 3

The media portrayed the Sulfuric Shithole as, well, an absolute shithole. Every parent told their children, regardless of age, that if they committed a crime, they'd end up there. They spoke of the horrors that went on within the stone-and-metal walls—the rapes, the riots, the rotting away of spirits and bodies alike. Every day a new horror would unfold. A new body surfaced every hour; the screams of the distressed could be heard echoing from the deepest recesses of the solitary unit; the floors, originally white, were now a dull brown from all the blood that had splattered there—and other harrowing stories of the like.

However, while prison was nowhere near fun, it was nowhere near that bad, either.

Perhaps other inmates thought otherwise, but in Tetsuhiro's case, prison was more boring than dangerous. Granted, there were a few rapes and murders and fights here and there, but rarely did they ever escalate beyond a single offense. Most prisoners were shipped off to the Pits immediately if they committed such offenses within the prison's walls. Most times that was enough to scare the other prisoners into keeping compliant.

He hadn't ever visited Coal—few people from Diamonds could say that they had—but most stories he'd heard were about the same. It was a cold, lawless place, where friends could easily turn into enemies over something as simple as food. Disease and filth ran rampant throughout the island, reminders of the origins of the destruction that took place there a century ago.

Though, considering the painstakingly boring routine he'd experienced in the past six months, Tetsuhiro wouldn't mind visiting the grey rock everyone feared so much. Day in and day out, the same events transpired: prisoners awoke at eight for room inspection, ate from a mediocre selection of dullness, worked their various tasks for however long they were assigned, ate from the same mediocre selection, returned to their tasks, ate yet again, then headed back to their cells at nine to sleep. Then they awoke at eight the next morning, and the routine continued. Unendingly. Forever.

But sometimes 'forever' was irregular in length.

A few times out of the month, instead of returning to work after noon, certain groups prisoners were allowed free time in the massive yard positioned in the middle of the facility. Unlike the rest of the place, the yard resembled civility. The ground had large patches of grass and stone walkways, much like a park would have. Best of all, though, a glance upward showed the sky, a distant memory to most prisoners, regardless of where they resided. Even free citizens would kill for that view; Diamond was a heavily industrialized district, to the point where the other districts looked like forests in comparison. Naturally smoke and smog fought one another for control of the skies, leaving the expanse of blue completely forgotten in some parts of the district.

Tetsuhiro stared up at that somewhat forgotten luxury now, laying back on a stone bench with his arms linked behind his head. Summer dried up like water in a desert, just as autumn started to drift down from the trees. Seasons were easy to lose track of when imprisoned—he knew of a handful of prisoners who firmly believed that it was still winter. He didn't know for sure, but Tetsuhiro thought it was around September. Either that or late August; it was too warm for October.

Around him other prisoners milled about. Most just sat in their respective groups and spoke with one another about topics ranging from how difficult work was to how much they hated others. He thought he heard the word 'escape' drift from someone's mouth. He had to scoff at that. The only way a person left this place was by being taken out by someone on the outside, whether by authorities for movement to a different facility, release, or being bought out by a family member or friend. Regrettably Tetsuhiro didn't have the luxury of the last, since his entire family had basically thrown him away after they found out about the 'rape' he'd committed. Even if that hadn't have happened, though, he was still estranged for different reasons. A few too many parties and a few too little precautions taken. He did meet with his brother on occasion, but those were rarer than someone from Diamonds heading to Coal willingly.

He let out a sigh. Hiroto had been moved to another mining group, and he wouldn't get out until an hour from now. When he'd arrived to the Shithole, he hadn't bothered finding a group to insert himself into. It didn't really matter that much, though; following obvious events, he found it difficult to associate with others.

Though the stone bench did bite into his back, it was the most comfort he was going to get. The ground was deceptive; it looked luscious and beautiful, but it felt even harder than steel when you laid on it. Shifty bastards, the guards were. Elements like that had inspired the name False Civility for the yard area.

Another sigh escaped his lips, and his eyes drifted shut. He thought he could sleep for the next hour until his one companion arrived.

He thought wrong.

Instead he was stuck in a perpetual consciousness, able to recognize that he was awake but feeling as if he was asleep. But somehow time ticked by, and after a decent amount of it had passed, he felt someone standing over him. His eyes opened, but they didn't meet the sapphire ones that he'd expected. Instead he stared up at a piece of tinted glass behind which eyes stared down at him. All guards wore helmets or masks—some odd superstition of not having the guards 'poisoned' by the prisoners.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"You look comfortable," the guard commented.

He shrugged. "I'm not."

"Good. You won't mind getting up, then."

Another shrug. "I don't really wanna."

"Oh? but you just said that you weren't comfortable."

"My opinion changed. Something else you want?"

He couldn't see the guard's eyes, but he knew the gaze he received was a hateful one. Unsurprising. "Mouthy bastard, aren't you?"

"No. Just dying inside."

"Go die somewhere else."

"Don't wanna."

A growl drifted out from under the guard's breath, and out of the corner of his eye Tetsuhiro saw him draw a cudgel out from his belt.

Tetsuhiro rose from the bench.

"See? Was that so hard?" The bastard asked it with a taunt in his voice.

He didn't respond. Rather, he glanced around the ground. A larger-than-normal rock sat beside his shoe. After glancing over his shoulder to ensure the guard wasn't looking, Tetsuhiro picked up the rock and slipped it into the pocket of his prison jumpsuit.

He took two laps around the yard, fingering the rock within his pocket as he walked. Coal was a haven for criminals, and it was a harsh place. But it was a freer place. A place where he would be able to possibly get help. Or, at least, get the means to help himself a little better. But there was no way he'd be leaving the Shithole without committing an offense.

Luckily for him, though, assaulting a guard was just above murdering another prisoner on the severity of offenses.

He slowed his walk to a gentle stroll, to the point where a snail could've beaten him in a race. Once he drifted close enough to the guard on the bench, he swung the rock at the glass in the guard's helmet.

And then every fan was hit with shit.

The glass cracked but didn't shatter, and while the guard was stunned, he wasn't incapable of retaliation. And retaliate he did, this time with his club. Tetsuhiro managed to step out of the way of the swinging weapon the first time, but the second time it struck him in the side. Pain burst at the spot of impact, but adrenaline managed to nullify it enough for him to remain standing. Never more had he thanked his generous height, for a well-aimed kick managed to strike the glass plate of the helmet again. This time the plate shattered, and from the scream that erupted from the guard's mouth, Tetsuhiro knew the fragments had stabbed some part of his face. He was fine with any part, but if it was an eye, he'd be guaranteed a trip to Coal.

"You son of a bitch!" the guard spat. "You killed my eye!"

Excellent.

Another blow struck him, though this time from behind and at his head. He fell to his knees with a grunt, blood and bruising now occupying the spot of impact. Two forces pulled him up from behind, and again another blow struck his head. Blackness seeped into the edges of his vision, and slowly his conscious slipped away.

He didn't struggle.


	4. Chapter 4

Sweat pouring from his forehead like water down rapids, Tetsuhiro let his body collapse onto the stone. Forty-seven. Five more than yesterday. Or, rather, five more than whenever he'd done them last. It was hard to tell, considering the lack of contact he had with the outside world.

Assaulting a guard did gain him a trip to Coal, but it wasn't a direct trip. Instead, it was a trip that included a little preparation time. At least, that's what it seemed like. It hadn't felt like very long, but he knew that he'd spent at least one month holed up in solitary confinement. He spent up to full days in his tiny five-by-seven foot cell, only leaving to shower once every three days.

While in the cell, he had two options: sit in the corner and wait until emptiness corroded away his sanity and left him hollower than he already was—or work out mindlessly. There was also sleep, of course, but his bed was closer to rocks than comfort. He only slept when he had to. When he awoke, he always ached, so he could never determine whether he'd slept well or shittily.

He'd started out with standard sit-ups and push-ups, but recently he'd begun creating and including self-made routines into his workouts. His last activity included doing push-ups upside down. He hadn't been at them for long, but they weren't all that difficult. Perhaps and probably because of his strengthened arms. The hardest part was keeping balance, especially difficult whenever he couldn't see how far he listed from side to side. Forty-seven was enough for now. He'd pick up again a few minutes after his body stopped burning.

Only seconds after he'd finished up, raps with the intensity of meteors banged against his door. Instantly Tetsuhiro sat up and closed his eyes. Perpetual darkness meant his eyes weren't ready for legitimate light. When the locks clicked and a brief stream of air hissed out from the space between the wall and door, he prepared his eyes for battle and opened them into little slits. It hit him slowly at first, just barely seeping in through the cracks. Then like a typhoon it crashed into him all at once, a wave of needles stabbing through his eyes and into his brain. But the fight was as short as it was intense, and after only a few moments he managed to see without pain.

Two guards clad in a slight variation of the uniform—using a cloth mask to cover their mouth and nose rather than a helmet—stood in the doorway. Both held a set of chains, a sight that Tetsuhiro always furrowed his brow at. More effective and advanced, usually prisoners were restrained with a simple-looking set of black cuffs that could tighten or loosen if a certain code was typed. Chains were still used in the mines, of course, but other than that they'd pretty much fallen off the face of the world—or, at least, off the face of Diamond.

"Get up," one ordered.

Despite his confusion, Tetsuhiro stood up without question. What were they doing here? They'd come to escort him for showering yesterday. Even if a full day hadn't passed, it hadn't been that long since his last shower. It wasn't for food. Food was transferred into his cell through a little trap door in the wall. So what, then?

They set about chaining him up, though for the most part it was relatively worthless. The chain between the cuffs was long enough that he could move well, and he could tell that the chains were in fact from the mines. But the ankle chains prevented him from moving more than a few inches at a time, easily halving his steps. He could still swing his fists if he really wanted to, but unless the hit killed, incapacitated, or knocked the guards unconscious, it wouldn't be worth it. Not when he would've only gotten a few inches away before getting caught again.

The guards led him with the gentleness of pissed-off bears down the hall of solitary cells. Unlike what he'd expected, they resided in the top floor. They'd originally been designed to reside below the mines, but upon construction of the Shithole, the builders had found that there was a possibility of the mines collapsing if they built below them. And so, that plan fell through quicker than paper through a grate.

For the most part the hall remained quiet. But on occasion there would be screaming. It'd be loud and it'd be vicious, but it'd never last long. They'd fade quickly, and after they faded, they'd never be heard again from the same source. And if they were...usually a bang accompanied them.

"You know how long you've been here?" the guard to his left asked.

"Solitary or overall?"

"Solitary," said the right one.

"No. It's hard to tell."

"A month," Left replied. "And you're still sane. Surprising. Most crack after two weeks of staying inside."

"So why am I out? I thought my solitary sentence was two months."

"It was, but that's been changed," Right said. "Not only that, but you have a visitor."

Tetsuhiro's brow furrowed. A visitor? Who'd visit him, especially now? He hadn't had a visitor since...well, since ever. Not since he'd been incarcerated had he seen any of his friends or relatives from the outside world. No one wanted to visit him, anyway, regardless of their relation to him. All were afraid of the attribute that could kill just as well as a knife or gun: association. If someone visited Tetsuhiro, people would talk, even more than they had already. Images would be ruined, and enemies would be made, not just for those who visited him, but for Tetsuhiro as well. And then all chances of him being bought out of prison were gone forever.

Once the cells had ended, the trio entered an elevator. They stood in silence for the ride down, lasting about half a minute before the dual metal doors opened up. Yet another bleak space awaited Tetsuhiro, though this time interest almost sparked within him. Almost. After seeing nothing but black for a month, even the darkest grey was a welcome sight.

He sat in a stool on one side of a glass pane. Walls surrounded him on both sides, and the moment he sat down, a third one closed behind him. This was the one place besides solitary that prisoners had privacy, though Tetsuhiro had heard rumors that they recorded all meetings for security purposes. If they had cameras anywhere, they'd hidden them well.

The door on the other side of the glass closed, and Tetsuhiro's eyes widened gradually as his visitor came into view. His features were a little older but not by much, and his hair was a reddish-brown rather than Tetsuhiro's bluish-black. He sat on the other side of the glass, and his bespectacled blue eyes locked with the prisoner's hazel ones.

Immediately Tetsuhiro grabbed the small phone that would let them speak. "What the hell are you doing here?" he spat.

"Not even going to greet your own brother?" Kunihiro replied drily.

"Did you expect me to?"

"I don't like to think about you much."

Tetsuhiro scoffed. "Of course you don't," he mumbled. "Now answer me. Why're you here?"

"To say goodbye," Kunihiro said. "Since we won't be seeing you ever again. Our parents sent me here to say goodbye on behalf of all of us."

His brow furrowed. "Goodbye? For what? You're planning to never associate with me again?" He wasn't surprised, but he didn't think they'd determine that so early.

Surprisingly, though, Kunihiro shook his head. "No. Well, not entirely, anyway. You won't be seeing us ever again, Tetsuhiro. Or anyone."

"What do you mean?" It clicked moments later, and he added, "Is this about my sentence to Coal?"

Kunihiro nodded.

"I could still come back," he said. "Even if I'm sent there, I could always somehow come back. I've heard of people doing that before."

His brother stared. "They didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Your sentence. They didn't tell you about where you're going for assaulting that guard?"

"Yeah. Coal."

"Did they tell you _where_?"

Now Tetsuhiro stared. "What do you mean? Doesn't everyone just go to the Pits?"

With a sigh that sounded more defeated than disappointed, Kunihiro shook his head. "No. Not the Pits. You're going somewhere else?"

"Where?"

"You're...oh, Tetsuhiro…"

"What?" His voice rose. "Where am I going?"

Kunihiro kept shaking his head.

"Answer me, for fuck's sake. Where am I going?!"

He lifted his gaze, and his words came down like a hammer. "The Tombs."


	5. Chapter 5

Though his solitary sentence lasted for another month, Tetsuhiro only stayed there for a few days before the chain-bearing guards returned to his cell. Any other time he wouldn't have been bothered—saying he 'wouldn't mind' was a bit of stretch, considering that his prison experience had slowly made him hate everyone. But this time they'd come during a relatively peaceful period of sleep. He'd even begun to dream of what awaited him. Though calling it a dream was a bit farfetched; rather than a straight progression of events, a few brief images would flash in his head.

Everyone who wasn't from there considered Coal hellish, but the Tombs made hell look like a field full of rainbows and sunshine. Similar to the Pits, the Tombs were regarded as a massive prison district. Difference was, though, that the Tombs weren't for standard criminals. No, they were for those considered too threatening even for the residents of the Pits. He hadn't heard much about the Tombs personally, but through casual eavesdropping, he'd heard a few others describe it as an underground system of tunnel ways so dark that those who lived there went blind. Apparently, even natives of Coal avoided the Tombs like a plague, which also apparently ran rampant in there.

He'd just started visualizing mutations that the wide spectrum of illnesses in the Tombs would've caused when a steel-toed kick to his abdomen jolted him from his analytical sleep.

While they carried chains, Tetsuhiro knew they were only decorative. His actual restraints included the modern black cuffs that he was accustomed to wearing. His wrists weren't going anywhere until they were unlocked or loosened. Even so, a thin strip of metal links connected the two sides of the cuffs together. His ankles held a similar aesthetic, though the cuffs were a bit further spaced in order to keep his feet able to walk.

He shuffled out of his cell at a speed that would've made a crippled snail shake its head in disappointment. The guards were equally annoyed at his pace, but they kept that annoyance sealed within their eyes. Technically it was their fault for the slowness, so technically they couldn't do anything harmful to Tetsuhiro. Though he knew that as well as they did, he was still glad. He knew of more than a handful of guards that worked at the Shithole that easily would've beaten him until he'd moved faster, even though those beatings would just slow them down further. Luckily for him, the guards seemed like relatively reasonable men. As reasonable as his shitty luck would allow him to have, anyway. But as long as he didn't manually fuck himself over, he should've kept himself unharmed.

As was customary for those being transferred to Coal—especially, he assumed, for those going to the Tombs—he had to avoid any and all contact with those not being taken. Naturally, this meant taking an overly complex route consisting of three stairwells, one elevator, and no short of twenty-seven hallways. The route passed by in half an hour's span, twenty minutes longer than it should've taken. Even with his legs restrained, it would've only taken about fifteen. But every time someone approached, the guards had to steer him away. The reason behind the alienation, he never knew. He was sure someone had mentioned it to him before, or at least had spoken of it in his presence, but he didn't recall anything of the sort being said around him. It was probably akin to the reason why most guards covered their faces, whether partially or entirely. Full of points and meanings, but at the same time pointless and meaningless.

When they finally did reach the side yard, separated from the main one by a walled concrete pathway, Tetsuhiro was ready to harm the guards with much, _much_ more than just a rock in many, _many_ more places than just the eyes. But if he did, he'd probably meet a fate similar to the one he currently wished upon those who'd escorted him.

Four others stood in the yard with escorts of their own, each face more bitter and hateful than the last. Ironically, though, the one with the most bitter hatred was the youngest one, probably only eighteen or so. Tetsuhiro furrowed his brow. What was a kid like him doing in a group of prisoners going to the Tombs?

Then it clicked in his head. _They_ weren't all going to the Tombs. Perhaps one or two of them were, Tetsuhiro included, but not all of them. They were probably Pit-goers. Taking a mixed group to Coal rather than making two trips. Smart, he supposed.

The guards loaded the five prisoners into the back of a truck that looked like it was supposed to haul crates. Tetsuhiro went on third, and before the fourth one could even think of stepping into the unit, three more sets of restraints covered him, one for his head and the others for each of his arms and legs. The same went for the fifth one. He assumed that they were also Tomb-goers, and dangerous ones at that.

No benches resided within the cubical unit, simply cold metal that would undoubtedly hurt his back after any journey that lasted longer than half an hour. Based on his ominous the bang following the door's closing sounded, he assumed it'd be for awhile.

* * *

And what a while it was.

Being in solitary for so long had sharpened his time-telling abilities, especially in dark areas. He'd estimated that a day had passed since their departure—which had taken place about an hour after their entrance on the truck—and that no less than half of his muscles would ache the next time that he used them. But at the moment, future aches were the furthest thing from his thoughts.

He had to escape. Whether by force or aversion, he had to escape the hell he was being driven to. Even if the Tombs turned out to be exaggerated, nothing that included the words "underground tunnel system" excited him. He wasn't particularly fond of Coal, either—hell, he wasn't even fond of going back to his life in Diamond. He couldn't handle all the emotions associated with that place. Besides, he'd just be thrown back into prison after being found out. If possible, he hated the idea of living in fear of being discovered even more than going back to people who probably hated him—or at least didn't want to associate with him anymore.

And so, escape was an oasis in a world of deserts.

Force was the first approach he could take. The truck stopped periodically, about every four hours to rest. Having a bunch of piss and shit piling up in a small metal box wouldn't be desirable. Eventually the smells would waft outside, and eventually the drivers and small force of accompanying guards would be assaulted by the putrid odors. To them the prisoners meant nothing, but as soon as they started suffering personally, they'd start to care just a little bit more.

Among them in the unit were three guards, present to keep the two prisoners with more than just arm and leg restraints that way. They were his route out of here, out of the Tombs. They could give him an opportunity to leave, somehow blending into Coal, at least for a short period of time. Maybe he could even reestablish himself in Diamond, too. Not for awhile, though. Not until people had wiped his name from their minds. But that was only if he was smart about it. The wrong words to the wrong bastard could fuck him over harder than the gayest of all gays. He needed to pick out the right one, and as far as he knew, he had two options: a likeminded guard or a stupid guard. The former were practically unheard of in Diamond, too brainwashed by policies and politics to have opinions of their own. But the latter…

He hadn't been with them all that long, but Tetsuhiro knew enough about the guards with them. The three of them were aged around thirty, forty, and sixty. Each held the same hateful expression, just with less wrinkles, and though he was probably imagining it, each of them seemed to direct those gazes at him. Nothing would help him that they could provide, unless one of them ended up being gay or bi or something like that. But based on how they described fucking various women, whore or not, in almost gruesome detail, his chances seemed low. That left the drivers, and he doubted that he'd even see them, let alone persuade one.

Abruptly the truck stopped, and everyone looked to the door. The metal sheet pulled open to reveal who Tetsuhiro assumed was a driver. He was masked, so the only visible features were his eyes. Probably just a generic thirty-something.

And then he spoke.

"Sorry to startle you." His voice was higher pitched, but it still had a masculine tone to it. It took every fiber of his being to keep from smirking.

"Why did we stop?" the forty-year-old growled, annoyance grating his already gruff tone.

"We've reached Edgex," he replied.

Now the smirk was even harder to repress. The port city on Diamond's northern coast was the biggest of its breed in Dyamondix. Darkness filled the skies outside the truck, and stars opened their little eyes to peer down into the world. They were probably stopping somewhere until the night ended, and the moment the sun rose, they'd be boarding a ship bound for Coal.

His guessing skills had probably been dulled along with all feeling in his ass, for the guards rose for an announcement that didn't include his hypothesis. "We'll be boarding a ship destined for Coal in about half an hour," the sixty-year-old said. "Each of you will be accompanied by one of us. Make any moves and you will receive punishment."

As he rose to his feet, Tetsuhiro felt his heartbeat race. A ship ride to Coal only took about three hours. He had to think of something, and fast.

* * *

Fate had kept its fingers up Tetsuhiro's ass for the past few months, but at least now it was hitting the right spot. The ship they'd boarded was a small vessel, but it was large enough for every prisoner to have their own room, which consisted of a simple bed and single chair. Of course, they couldn't go unattended, so a guard was paired up with each of the five. Tetsuhiro's 'supervisor' was the young driver whom the others had called Yuon. An odd name, but a little thought had made it clear that it was a combination of the words 'young' and 'one.' Either that or his parents had been an eccentric lot. He looked around twenty or so, but he had features that belied that probable age. At least, that's what his eyes said.

But he couldn't act just yet. No, he had to wait. Even if Tetsuhiro managed to successfully threaten him now, there was still quite a ways to go until they reached Coal, and Tetsuhiro wasn't an excessively strong swimmer. He'd either be caught or dead before he could even think about swimming to Coal.

So he waited, not for a little bit of time, but for about a day. That was about how long it took them to get to the port. It would've taken a few hours, but they were on a little vessel about two centuries outdated. For the most part it was uneventful, with Tetsuhiro and Yuon sitting in relative silence throughout the journey. But halfway through the day, he decided to spark up some conversation.

"So," Tetsuhiro began. "how was driving?" It was a bit late to ask, but he couldn't think of anything else to say at the moment.

Yuon had to have thought the same, for the glance he gave him wasn't solely of interest. But it wasn't solely of confusion, either. "Not all that bad. Boring, mostly. Why do you ask?"

It took him a moment, but he managed to unlock the door leading to his darkly seductive side, previously hidden behind more barriers than he could count. "Well, naturally one's to be concerned whenever such a pretty face looks so tired."

He blinked at his words. "What?"

"You heard me. I think you're pretty."

Though the lower half of his face was still masked, Tetsuhiro could see the redness creeping up onto his cheeks. "Uh…thank you…?"

Tetsuhiro smiled. "Why so hesitant? It's not like I'm exaggerating." His head tilted to the side. "Or is it something different? Like...maybe you're taken already?"

"N-No, I'm not. I've just...never been complimented like that from someone like you before."

"Someone like me? What do you mean? A prisoner?"

"Ah...well, that's not what I meant, but yes."

Oh...this guy was still closeted. Had to be. No out-and-about gay would be so hesitant about a compliment, from a prisoner or not. At least, not the ones that Tetsuhiro had encountered, and he'd encountered enough gays in his life to open a zoo with.

 _Oh, this is too damn fun,_ he thought.

For the next half of the day, the banter continued. Mostly it had switched to casual talk, but Tetsuhiro managed to slip a few flirtatious comments in here and there. Each one didn't go unnoticed, often resulting in a little smile or giggle or even a blush. Tetsuhiro found himself smiling throughout as well, though for quite different reasons. Fate was a bitch and a slut and a shitbag, but she could also be wonderful, too, and in this situation, she was just that: wonderful. She'd put him with the most oblivious, innocent guard there was. How he'd even managed to become a guard was completely beyond Tetsuhiro's level of comprehension. Then again, he didn't really need to comprehend it. Not whenever it wasn't necessary.

Night rolled around a few hours later, just like how Yuon and Tetsuhiro rolled around atop the room's bed. The latter's shirt was off, and the former's was getting there. Currently Tetsuhiro had his tongue practically shoved down Yuon's throat, eliciting creamy moans from his 'receiver's' mouth. For being closeted, he was very open about his voice. Perfect in so many ways. He'd almost regret not taking Yuon.

Almost.

Reaching down, Tetsuhiro slipped his hand into the guard's unzipped pants. Still fucking his throat with his tongue, Tetsuhiro trailed his fingers almost lazily up and down Yuon's member. His moans grew louder, and to add authenticity Tetsuhiro allowed a little one of his own to escape. Before he died on the inside, he was a rather vocal lover during sex, but at the moment that audibility was nowhere to be found. Hell, before his inner-death he'd probably go the entire way with his naive little guard. But now the thought of anything past this was sickening. Well, no, that wasn't right. He wasn't sickened by this—just unenthused.

Tetsuhiro pulled his lips away from Yuon's. The young guard still tilted his head back, his eyes shut, an admittedly delicious expression on his face. Tetsuhiro watched with narrowed eyes, but his gaze was more thoughtful than aroused. He looked lost, but not that lost. It was as if he was in a thick forest and had come upon a sign that vaguely gave directions to different destinations. But for this to work properly, he'd have to be completely and hopelessly dependent on Tetsuhiro.

His tongue darted out to lap over Yuon's throat. The guard cried out, arching his back off the bed.

 _Not enough. Not yet._

His tongue ran down Yuon's neck, not stopping until he hit the right nipple. At the hardened point of flesh, he nibbled. Another loud moan drifted out from his mouth.

 _Getting closer._

He sucked harder on the nipple. Yuon's body spasmed, and his moans grew in noise level.

 _Almost there…_

His teeth clamped down on the hardened tip just enough to keep from pain. Another spasm, stronger this time, followed by a, "M-Morinaga...!"

 _Right there._

The hand on Yuon's member tightened to an excruciating hold, and not an arousing one. Before Yuon could scream—and god, he would—Tetsuhiro clamped a hand over his mouth. No need for the others to get woken up.

Tetsuhiro leaned down, his own eyes narrow as he gazed into the terrified orbs of Yuon. Slowly he saw realization trickle in, and he couldn't help but smirk. "You're going to be an obedient little shit, all right?" he whispered. When Yuon did nothing, his eyes narrowed further. " _Right_?"

Yuon winced and nodded hurriedly.

Tetsuhiro softened his gaze a bit. "Good. Now, you listen. And do it well. You're going to stay here, in this room, while I escape. Once I'm gone, the others will notice. You will not say anything; you will not know anything. You will make up an excuse. Maybe my cuffs weren't on tight enough. That sounds pretty believable. Am I clear?"

He nodded again in the same fashion, and even more fear filled his gaze.

"All right. I'm going to let you go. And if you scream, I will rip your dick off and choke you with it."

He pulled his hand away, and just as he'd expected, Yuon did nothing. Smirking wider than before, Tetsuhiro approached the window. It wasn't an overly-large pane, but it was big enough for him to fit through. He opened the window as wide as it would go, and with a deep breath of the salty air, he leapt into the dark waters below.


	6. Chapter 6

Just as Tetsuhiro had expected, no guards had seen a thing, and if they had, they didn't take any actions against him. He probably could've escaped without utilizing an 'escape plan' of any sort. They were already in Coal, after all, which was a haven for prisoners and criminals. As long as he escaped _here_ , nothing would've mattered. As long as he wasn't killing anyone in the Dyamondix mainland, they didn't care. But intimidation was fun. _Very_ fun. Especially when it resulted in Tetsuhiro getting something he wanted or needed. Well, as fun as it could've been, anyway. He didn't feel more than a faint sense of satisfaction from his escape.

The ship was docked in a beaten-down port village, so he only had to swim for about two minutes before reaching the shore. Upon standing on the rough wooden planks, he realized with many stabs to his back that he'd forgotten his shirt back on the ship. Everything was cold and everything was painful, and it was all because of his own stupidity. Of course. Why wouldn't it be? No plan ever went entirely error-free.

Shivering as minimally as he could, Tetsuhiro trudged his way down the dock and into the village itself. Everything was dark, but he could see well enough to determine that there were no people here. A great thing, of course; he was strong physically, but if he came across anyone now, he'd probably be killed within an instant. They'd have weapons, as well as a wild nature about them that came from this environment. Then again, it was only a matter of time before Tetsuhiro developed the same.

A soft rustle caught his attention, and Tetsuhiro viewed a tattered cloth that hung off of a broken fence post. That could be a shirt for now. He had no money with him, but this place was built on crime. He'd just have to steal something. That was all. He had a distinct feeling that he'd be using that mentality a lot more often now that he was here.

He glanced over his shoulder to view the ship from which he'd 'escaped.' Would they question his disappearance? Or would they just shrug and continue with their jobs? Probably the latter. They had bigger problems than him. Or maybe they didn't. He couldn't bother to care. Not whenever he was half-naked and title-less. That mattered wherever he'd go, whether 'civilized' like Diamond or 'wild' like Coal. Dyamondix was a place where title came second only to wealth, and even then the latter usually came from the former. But title wasn't something that he couldn't acquire. Nobility meant nothing up here, simply how powerful you were. At least, that's what he thought. He couldn't be sure. Not until he'd been here for long enough to scope the scene.

As for now though, shelter was his main issue. It was around midnight, maybe one in the morning. A blanket of solid black covered the sky, no stars in sight. Perhaps there was smog here, like in some sections of Diamond. In any case, there was no moon, so he could barely see a thing, his own appendages included. There were a couple of lanterns strewn about the port village, but they were either shattered or empty of oil. It'd been centuries since these were actually used as light sources, but at this point Tetsuhiro would take a wooden torch.

At least they'd docked in an actual—formerly—inhabited place rather than just on the shore. Though mostly rotten, cracked, and overall shitty, he had a wide selection of temporary shelters to choose from. He'd move more toward the interior tomorrow. Night would spell danger for him in more ways than one. Not only was he practically blind, he was also unarmed.

Tetsuhiro stepped into the most together-looking shithole that there was. After a quick look-around, he shut the door—surprisingly still there—and tied the sheet around himself so that it somewhat resembled a shirt. Winter was approaching quicker than it was receding, and no matter how strong he was physically, he was weak to the cold like everyone else. He'd need many more clothes than the meager garments he had now, and he'd need them quickly. But that was a sword with many edges. He'd have to venture into Coal's interior, which he was going to do anyway, but he had to find a place that would have clothing. That, of course, meant that there would be people nearby, and chances were great that they wouldn't just back down and give him their things. Even if he was of a decently intimidating size and voice.

The hut's bed wasn't like his normal one, but it was a little better than his prison bed. There was a hole here and there, maybe a rat or two gnawing at the insides, but at least it was soft. And there was a decently thick sheet, too. Maybe he'd use that sheet as his makeshift coat. No one else would miss it. He hoped.

With a sigh, Tetsuhiro buried himself under the sheet and curled up a little. He felt like a child in that position, or maybe a cat. This was the comfiest he'd been in awhile. But something still wasn't right. Something still felt...missing...

Oh. Right. This was his spooning position. And he was without a little spoon.

If he could still feel feelings, he'd probably be saddened. There was a little ping of something in his stomach; that was probably it. Ah, well. At least he had somewhat of an opportunity to make his life better here. Or worse. Either way, it was better than rotting in a tunnel until he went batshit crazy or died.

Then again, part of him had already done the latter, and he knew he'd become the former after a bit of time. But hopefully there would be no tunnel in sight when that happened.

* * *

Rather than gentle waves and sleepy balminess, Tetsuhiro was awoken by intense screeching and a dull chill. The screeching undoubtedly came from a bird—no human could make that sound, and he'd heard many a human make many a sound before. But nothing ever like that hellacious amalgamation of screaming and growling. He wanted to stab himself, his ears, and the bird, all at the same time. But regrettably he didn't have enough arms for that. Well, he did, since he could both stab his ears and himself at the same time, since his ears were part of himself, but that wasn't the point. As long as the bird died, he'd be fine.

After practically beating the sleep out of himself, Tetsuhiro rose from the bed. Last night had been too dark to see anything, but while it was overcast outside, there was enough daylight that he could see around much better. There was a little dresser, the bed, and a table in the hut, which was about the size of his original prison cell if it was round. It didn't look promising in terms of housing weaponry, and following a brief look-through, his assumptions were proven right. Just broken wood, and no pieces big enough to threaten anyone, not even a small child. Then again, he hadn't encountered small children in awhile. They were probably all bastards, though, so it didn't matter.

Through the other huts he searched, until finally he came across a nasty-looking knife—it wasn't intimidating, just extremely rusted and disgusting. But when he stabbed the dresser to test it, the blade didn't break immediately, so he took that as a good sign and rolled with it.

After a bit of fanangaling, Tetsuhiro managed to affix the knife to his waist and conceal it with his makeshift coat. There was no mirror near him, at least none that he'd found. But if he could view his reflection now, he was sure he'd be seeing the most pathetic excuse for an outfit ever pieced together. But at least he wouldn't freeze his balls off—he may need those in the future, after all.

The ship was still there whenever he stepped out into the overcast daylight, but as far as he could tell, no one was anywhere near it. They probably left with the prisoners already. He wondered briefly if anyone had questioned his disappearance; or, rather, if anyone had cared. He'd already done so repeatedly since the night before, but the curiosity just hadn't been shaken yet.

He shrugged, though, and that managed to throw the curiosity away enough for now. It didn't really matter. He was already out of their custody—already free of the fate set by fear and cowardice. Though arguably he was now in a different kind of custody: the custody of Coal and all of its influence. But he'd worry about that later. For now, he walked away from the little shithole he'd temporarily called home.

Only about twenty minutes passed before he bridged the gap between dirty and city. Like most had said, the buildings stood as shells of their former selves. Some had entire tops or sides blown out, showing their crumbling, mostly hollow interiors. Rubble lined the streets, from wrappers to rotten wood to huge boulders of concrete—clear remains of the buildings' glory, if there was even any to begin with. In an attempt to eradicate the old diseases, dynamite and fire had been unleashed unto the buildings. Destructive forces would destroy the germs that produced the diseases, the government thought. Despite their hopes, they'd only succeeded in eradicating the architecture. It was a rumor, but based on what Tetsuhiro now saw, the scale tipped a little more in the way of truth.

Few roamed the streets, save for some roaches and the occasional rat. Hopefully neither creature carried anything deadly. The population had grown up or grown accustomed to the toxins, undoubtedly, but Coal was much dirtier than Diamond would ever be. Tetsuhiro had been to the 'dirtier' parts of Diamond multiple times, but this was a completely different kind of dirty.

Part of him wondered if the lack of human denizens was purposeful. Maybe this was a dangerous area of Coal that not even the hardest inhabitants traversed. Maybe some riot had occurred here that resulted in widespread death. Or perhaps there was something sacred about this area. He'd never been anything remotely close to religious—they all preached against anal love, which Tetsuhiro loved the second-most of anything in the world—but cults were popping up in a few places throughout the world. There were a few religious sociopaths that had shared the Shithole with the rest of the relatively sane people there. Most committed suicide early on, though, due to all the rape.

A few shouts hit his ears.

Seemed he'd find out if any of his reasons had merit.

The man laughed seemingly with himself in an almost purposefully obnoxious way. He was bald, with tiny eyes, a bigass mouth, and tattoos of snakes slithering about his arms and scalp. Each design was the same. On his shoulder rested a bat with a varying amount of nails and spikes embedded in the barrels. Based on how the tattoos looked, he was probably a gang or cult member, so this was probably his 'turf.'

Despite his sketchy past of rock-smashing and dick-suffocation, Tetsuhiro wasn't much of a fighter. Granted, he had the height, physique, mental capability, and experience, but he didn't like fighting. It was too much effort. So he just walked toward them levelly.

Regrettably, though, their levels weren't anywhere close to the same.

"Oi! Scowl-face."

Tetsuhiro looked to the bastard walking toward him.

"Where'd you get the shirt?"

"Why does it matter?"

He raised his barely-there eyebrows. "Ooh, look at you. Demanding information like an Aethan when you're dressed like a Tombstone."

He assumed those were derogatory in some fashion.

"You want one? I'll trade you for yours," Tetsuhiro offered.

The bastard just scoffed and laughed. It was like hearing a dog have painful sex with a drunk hyena. "Oh, you're fun! The hell you from? Aethan? Pits? Lacks?"

He just stood there. Pits was the prison area, but what the fuck did the other two mean?

"You gonna answer or not?"

More standing in confused contemplation.

"You're like a Mixer. All silent and shit. Well, if you ain't gonna talk, you may as well walk."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You're in my way. I was always taught that pushing people's rude."

Up again went his invisible brows. "Feisty bastard, aren't ya? So you are from Aethan." He lowered his bat from his shoulder so the top rested against the ground. It was then that Tetsuhiro noticed the knife sticking out from the bottom of the weapon. "If you ain't gonna walk, then there's only one option left: fight."

"You're sure there's only one? It seems like you skipped a shitload of other options."

His already tiny eyes narrowed. "You're not from here, are ya?"

He shook his head.

"Where are you from?"

He'd probably get his head bashed in if he spoke the truth, so instead he said, "Not here."

Tetsuhiro couldn't tell if he'd offended or amused the bastard, for he smiled as he replied with, "What're you carryin'?"

He retrieved his knife from the folds of his 'clothes.' The bastard scoffed and laughed again in that dog/hyena-sex-way. Tetsuhiro felt his ears start to bleed.

He lifted his bat and smirked. "This'll be—"

Tetsuhiro kicked him in the chest and slashed his face with the knife. He managed to slice the bastard's face open, but the kick had done little more than dirty his shirt. He swung the bat, and by a miracle of life Tetsuhiro managed to dodge. Skirting around him, Tetsuhiro stabbed him in the back with an elbow. The bastard turned around and swung low. Tetsuhiro jumped to avoid it, but in a rare display of fuckery his height was his downfall—literally. The barrel of the bat hit his ankles, and he fell down. Dull pain stabbed his back, and he grunted as he hit the ground. His knife skittered away, but not far enough for him to be worried. But then a boot crushed his wrist, and all of his hopes died even more than they already had.

"You're definitely not from here," he mumbled. "You dunno a damn thing about fighting."

Maybe it was the threat of robbery and/or death talking, but Tetsuhiro thought he heard laughter. And it didn't sound like shit. It sounded...kind of nice…

The barrel pressed against Tetsuhiro's cheek. He felt the nails scratch his skin, but he couldn't tell if anything was bleeding. "You probably don't have shit on ya. But bones are always good for trade…"

The laughter picked up again, now to the left of him. Tetsuhiro shifted his gaze, but no people stood anywhere in that vicinity.

"Oi!" The pressure on his wrist increased, and Tetsuhiro hissed. "The fuck're you looking at?" His head turned to the left.

And then it was gone.

Or, rather, it and the rest of his body stumbled to the left. Part of his skull had been crushed, evidenced by the massive bloody hole that now resided on the side of his head. Instantly Tetsuhiro crawled back and rose to his feet.

"Shit, I missed," an admittedly attractive voice grumbled.

His eyes shifted, right this time, and it was then that he noticed the new addition to the conflict. The new guy moved before he could accurately take in his appearance, but he moved with a kind of skillful grace that was equate to a dancer's. He darted to the side of Tetsuhiro's attacker, still recovering from the wound he'd received. He swung some kind of pole, which caused a ball on a chain to wrap around the bastard's neck. His booted foot forced him to the ground, and he yanked the chain back for what Tetsuhiro assumed was asphyxiation.

"You feel that?" the new one asked. "That's the feeling of stupidity biting you in the ass. Or, in this case, choking you." He laughed under his breath, a sound that made Tetsuhiro tingle a little in the southern regions. "Talking about 'you don't know how to fight' when you're attacking someone with a knife with a Nail-Bar. Fuckin' dumbass."

He twisted his wrist a few ways, and somehow the chain completely unraveled from around his neck. The bald one gasped for breath.

"No one told your mouth nor your ass to breathe." He swung his pole downward, and a blade popped out. Five seconds later, that blade was embedded in his head, and seven seconds later his body was still and lifeless.

It was then when Tetsuhiro could behold him properly. The first feature he noticed was his hair. It was long and flowed down past his well-defined ass, silvery blonde in color. The sides were pulled up, and the middle section was teased, giving him massive amounts of volume. His eyes were a piercing shade of orange-brown, faintly surrounded by black eyeliner. He was shorter than Tetsuhiro but definitely not much weaker. His black clothes hugged his body, leaving every line practically exposed. His boots stretched to his knees, decorated with chains and buckles that shined even in the dim sunlight. How he'd managed to move, let alone so gracefully, was beyond Tetsuhiro.

And then there was his weapon. What he'd thought was a pole was actually a black hilt, with a blade that apparently folded and retracted within. Extending from the bottom of the hilt was a thin but strong chain, at the end of which was a grey ball. A small button rested on the top of the ball, and little holes dotted the surface. Retractable spikes, probably.

His intense eyes stared into Tetsuhiro's stunned ones. Then they went down, and then down a little further. His lips twisted as he stared in the direction of Tetsuhiro's groin. Then they went up again, back to his eyes. He was about an inch shorter than Tetsuhiro, but his boots were platforms, which added at least three inches to his height.

He nodded once. "You're gonna die."

Tetsuhiro blinked. "What?"

"You're gonna die," he repeated.

"What?" he asked again.

His gaze flattened. "Really, motherfucker?" He sighed. "Look at me. In the face. I know I'm a beautiful creature, but my dick's not the best with conversation." The whole time Tetsuhiro's eyes hadn't moved. "All right." He poked Tetsuhiro's chest. "You're from West, right?"

"West?"

Another sigh. "Yeah, you're from West," he mumbled. He nodded to the right. "Follow me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm gonna help your ass not die as quickly. But I'm not doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I have none of that. I'm doing it because you are the sexiest thing that has crossed my path in a _long_ time. Save for my reflection, anyway."

He wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or insult. "What's your name?"

He scoffed. "Well, it's changed a lot, but at the moment, it's Tyrant."

Based on the weapon and air of strength he carried, Tetsuhiro could see why. "How can I know that I can trust you?"

"Because I just saved your lovely ass from being raped and dissected for your organs." He patted Tetsuhiro's cheek almost affectionately. "Now come on and follow me, you sexy beast."


	7. Chapter 7

Aside from staying out of others' conflicts and soap being the downfall of many an anus, Tetsuhiro had learned in prison that random encounters from other people usually meant fights. Had he been involved in any? Not really. Gotten close? Definitely. It was pretty much unavoidable, but thanks to a bit of misdirection, he'd managed to get out of fights by turning aggression previously directed at him on someone else.

For the most part, his lack of a 'filter' with words was the reason for these fights. But he'd said basically nothing to this Tyrant, so being pushed against a wall in a nearby alley and having the blade—still lined with blood—held to his throat seemed uncalled for.

"All right, Imma give you about—eh—three, maybe five words to explain yourself," he explained. "I expect these rules to be followed. Anything over and I will kill you. Anything under and I'll wound you lethally."

"I escaped from prison," Tetsuhiro answered.

"That's four words," Tyrant pointed out. "I said three or five."

"You said three, _maybe_ five," Tetsuhiro corrected.

"I didn't say you could use four."

"You didn't say I couldn't use four."

"I said to follow the rules."

"You never said how strictly."

Tyrant stared at him flatly. Tetsuhiro stared back in a similar fashion.

The blade left his neck without any injuries.

"You pass," Tyrant said.

"Pass what?"

"Test one: a diagnostic on how much of a bastard you are. You pass with colors that fly."

"You mean 'flying colors?'"

"I did not."

"How did you not?"

"Are you questioning me?"

"I am."

"Why is that?"

"Because I want to know how you don't see the synonimity of the two expressions."

His eyes narrowed. "M'kay, so you're gonna be that way." Tyrant unpinned Tetsuhiro from the wall and yanked him closer. Despite their height difference, Tyrant wrapped his arm around Tetsuhiro's shoulders and led him back out into the main street. "Lemme give you some advice—first in a series. Ooh, but that means it has to have a name. Hmm—I know! I'll call it 'Tyrant's Tips.' Excellent title."

"Uh-huh."

"Last I recall, the upward inflection in my voice was lacking in that last sentence."

Tetsuhiro wasn't sure if he was supposed to be offended or not.

"Anyway, tips! If you're gonna succeed here, drop your fuckin' dialect and adopt mine. Do you have to adopt mine? Not necessarily."

"Didn't you just say—?"

"Ah! I was not done. Tip two: don't interrupt Tyrant when he speaks."

The flashback to childhood made Tetsuhiro want to smash Tyrant's head against the nearest wall—conveniently a few feet away. But he refrained; he still hadn't gotten over how pretty it was.

"Back to tip one, when I said 'mine' the first time, I meant 'mine' as in the region's."

"So Coal is yours?"

A sudden burst of pain in his stomach elicited a grunt and an ache from Tetsuhiro.

"Tip one, subsection a: _never_ use those terms when naming the regions. Here, they're North, South, East, and West. _Never_ Coal, Ruby, Jade, and Diamond."

"Got it," Tetsuhiro wheezed.

"God, you keep interrupting me; it's so inconvenient." He shook his head disappointedly. "Anyway, to answer your previous question, North is split into a few different regions, but I'll explain that a little later. North's dialect is _far_ different from anywhere else. Kinda similar to South since it's a little poorer, but it's as similar as a bat to a bird. They can both fly, but they're totally different animals. Compared to West, though, it's as different as a banana and a cat. Words like 'synonimity' will get you found out quicker than a fag in a room full of naked straight men.

"Now, this leads me to the second part of what I said before. My way of speech specifically is a little different than North's. That's due to my background, which I also won't get into right now. Too lengthy."

 _And this wasn't?_ Tetsuhiro thought.

"So how do I change my dialect?" he asked.

"Minimally, start swearing _a lot_."

"Easy."

"Excellent. Anyway, you should also learn a bit of slang. The fucker I killed back there called you a Mixer, right?"

Tetsuhiro nodded.

"That's a term for...I think they call it a disc master in West. It's a person in a club or at a party who's responsible for the music. He called you that because usually Mixers don't talk. They just play."

"Clever."

"For an organ harvester, yeah."

A little more walking led them out of the city and onto the coast. It was a different area from where Tetsuhiro came, though. Rather than a destroyed village, it was just a dock. The wood was rotten, the boards staying together by the sheer force of will. A few boats—mostly upside-down or half-there—floated in the murky waters, also rotten and maggot-infested.

Among all these almost-sunken vessels was something that partially resembled a jet ski. However, the back of the ski hosted a glass panel that resembled a windshield. It was completely black, save for the windshield, and had the letter 'T' painted on the side in red.

"Like it?" Tyrant asked.

Tetsuhiro nodded.

"I modified it myself. The water would always splash my back and sides and get my shit wet. And lemme tell you, wet spandex is not something desirable."

"It wouldn't make the spandex wet, would it?" Tetsuhiro asked. Surprisingly, he'd never worn any in his life.

"Kinda. But the main thing is the squeakiness. Makes me wanna kill myself more than I already do."

Tyrant climbed onto the front seat of the ski, his citrine eyes focused on the dashboard. It was then that Tetsuhiro noticed the impressive display of controls and gauges that occupied the surface. Closer inspection of the ski revealed a few slits and attachments, partially obscured by the water.

"Fuck you waiting for?" Tyrant asked. "Get on."

Tetsuhiro followed his instruction and sat on the second seat. Tyrant twisted a few knobs and pushed a few buttons. The sides of the ski rose, further shielding the duo from the water.

"Tricked the bitch out too," he said. "Though I had to get a little assistance for a few things. Rewiring controls, mostly."

He revved the ski by twisting one of the handlebars, and after stomping on something Tetsuhiro couldn't see, the duo was off.

Tyrant didn't lie when he implied that the adjustments helped. Even as the ski shredded through the water, very little of it splashed on them. Whether for fun or impression Tetsuhiro didn't know, but Tyrant performed a few spins and jumps as they rode. He cackled after each stunt, but it wasn't an annoying cackle. It was arrogant, definitely, but it had a sexy quality to it, too. Hell, everything about him had a sexy quality to it. Based on his behavior earlier, that was intentional. But Tetsuhiro couldn't say that he cared. For the first time in awhile, he found himself a little turned on.

Eventually Tyrant slowed down, and a few minutes after that, he stopped completely. Again he pushed the buttons, and the sides lowered once more. Tyrant stepped onto the shore, but Tetsuhiro lingered for a brief moment.

They'd landed on a small island—nothing too excessive, but it was big enough to sport a building. It resembled a landfill, almost, comprised of multiple different pieces of what looked like garbage that formed one massive pile of it. Rather than a straight square or rectangle, the building had a horizontal rectangle with a vertical one on top, from both of which multiple smaller structures jutted. They were all different constructions and colors—one was wooden and green, while another other one was dark and made out of bricks. A couple spires dotted the structure, too, mostly toward the top of the horizontal rectangle.

"Impressive, right?" Tyrant asked.

Most of the impressiveness came from how it had managed to stay intact, but he nodded all the same.

"Now, _this part_ I only did a little of. Come on."

Tetsuhiro left the ski and followed Tyrant inside.

He'd only known him for about half an hour, but Tetsuhiro could say with complete confidence that the building reflected Tyrant to the greatest extent: misleading on the exterior and eccentric on the interior. There was only one floor, and that was the one that they'd entered through the front door. The vertical rectangle's insides were completely hollow, save for what looked like a pulley system that extended from the ceiling. Each spire also lacked a real floor, instead hosting a hole in the middle from which wooden ladders extended. The ground resembled a normal apartment, with a kitchen, entertainment space, and dining table. Bookshelves twice Tetsuhiro's height stood against the walls, though for the most part they were filled with small knick-knacks rather than books. There were some, yes, but there were few enough that they could just be called 'shelves.' Weapons hung from the walls, too. Maces, swords, knives, chains, whips—but never a firearm. Further inspection of the ceiling revealed what looked like a rail system. A few bars on wheels hung from the rails, which Tetsuhiro noticed had small boxes attached to them.

" _This_ , I did myself. Minus the little holes in the spires. I carved out the holes, but for the most part the floor was already there."

"It's...really impressive," Tetsuhiro said.

Tyrant chuckled. "You flatter me. Keep that up and you will excel here." He snapped his fingers once. "Ah, right. I almost forgot." He turned so he faced Tetsuhiro, then cupped either of his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss.

Tetsuhiro widened his eyes and flinched a little. But after he'd recovered from the basic response, he found himself kissing back a little. Warmth spiked in his heart, and he could feel it grow in his pants, too. He was just about to reach down Tyrant's body when the bastard broke it off.

"Mmm," he mumbled with a lick of his lips. "You're a fag, right?"

Tetsuhiro blinked. "Uh…I'm gay, yeah."

"Tip...four? Am I on four?"

"Three."

"Ah, okay. Tip three: don't use technical terms often. 'Gay' is technically less technical than 'homosexual,' but fag's the norm here. It isn't meant derogatorily, either. Just commonplace."

"Are you a fag?"

"Why would you assume?"

Tetsuhiro shrugged. "You called me a sexy beast earlier."

"Ah, that. No, I'm not a fag. I'm comfortably bisexual."

"Any special term for that?"

"No one specific one. Some use splitter, some use dualist, but most use bisexual."

"Ah, okay."

"I'll go over slang as we go." Tyrant walked to the middle of the space, right under the hollow rectangle. He grabbed a cord and seated himself in a little hammock that rested within the pulley system. He pulled on the ropes, and gradually he ascended. "Oh, fact about me: I hate stairs. Hate everything about them. Too boring and uniform." He continued up the system until he reached one of the spires. Then he locked it in place somehow and swung to the floor. A few ministrations later, the pulley released, and the hammock fell to the floor again. "Get up here."

Tetsuhiro seated himself in the hammock and mirrored Tyrant's actions. When he reached the spire Tyrant was in, Tyrant showed him how to lock the ropes in place. Once Tetsuhiro stood with him in the spire, Tyrant let it fall again.

"So what now?" Tetsuhiro asked.

With extreme enthusiasm Tyrant said, "I'm gonna kill you."


	8. Chapter 8

As was a customary response to hearing such an exclamation, Tetsuhiro made an attempt to fall through the hole in the spire's floor. Tyrant, however, seemed to be having none of it, for he made use of his platform boots and kicked the former fugitive between his legs. With a hiss Tetsuhiro fell to his knees, his face scrunched up in all types and variations of pain.

"Why?!" he half-snarled.

"Don't whine at me," Tyrant spat. "Here I was bein' nice to you and you bitch."

"You kicked me in the dick!"

"Would you rather be kicked in the dick or broken in the neck? The way you were going at it, you would've fallen straight to the ground, which would've easily incapacitated you, not only preventing you from running away from the prospect of death but making you even _more_ vulnerable to it."

Rather than retaliate Tetsuhiro just glared at the floor. Tyrant was right, undoubtedly, but his own stupidity made the pain in his balls ache so much harder.

"Fair enough," Tetsuhiro mumbled.

" _More_ than fair enough. Fair extreme. Anyway, as I was saying before you went all conniption on me, I'm gonna kill you."

"Why? Didn't I pass the test that would've made you _not_ kill me."

"Oh, you did. But if you would've let me finish up, you would've learned that I meant kill your _identity._ Tip number four: _always_ maximize the voraciousness of your ears."

Tetsuhiro glanced up at him. "Voraciousness?"

"Yeah. Like, how 'hungry' your ears are for sound."

"I know what it means. But didn't you say _not_ to use words like that?"

Tyrant twisted his lips. "No. I said that using them would get you found out as a Westerner. I didn't say that you had to drop them entirely. Just your dialect. Let's use me as an example because I'm both convenient _and_ beautiful."

He wasn't modest, but at least he didn't exaggerate.

"I use some big words, as you've probably noticed. However, both my tone and the majority of my language is informal, vulgar, and, most importantly, sporadic. This fits due to my _extremely_ sporadic personality. Now, if I was kinda meek and quiet, that wouldn't fit, so it wouldn't be socially accepted. However, most everyone in North knows that I'm a bastard-faced shit-stain that does what the fuck he pleases in terms of speech, action, and style. Which leads us _back_ to me killing your personality and giving you a new one. Which _then_ leads us into another lesson known as aesthetic."

Tyrant walked over to the hole and positioned himself on the ladder. "Come down. I wanna show you something."

Though still pulsing a little, Tetsuhiro followed Tyrant down the ladder. "Question."

"Possible answer," Tyrant replied.

"Why were we in that thing if you were going to move somewhere else?"

"Oh, right, I never elaborated. That's gonna be your bedroom."

He hadn't really paid attention to the spire's surroundings, but he supposed that he did notice the small bed. The spire wasn't that big, though, so he questioned Tyrant once again.

"Don't worry about it," he said. They dropped to the floor, and Tyrant pressed a kiss to Tetsuhiro's cheek. "You probably won't stay in there for long," he murmured.

Sad thing was, he was probably right. Especially if he kept teasing Tetsuhiro the way he'd been for the past hour or so.

Tyrant threw open a hatch in the floor and jumped with a "whoo!" into the space below. Tetsuhiro followed, though with considerably less enthusiasm.

At first it was dark, and only a few outlines of objects could be seen, but with a flip of a switch, Tyrant bathed the space in all kinds of light. It was a spacious area, probably half the size of the upper floor. Three vanities stood in the room, one for each wall except the one they stood near. On each vanity rested containers of various shapes, sizes, and colors. The one on the far side of the room had a few metal instruments with cords extending from rubber handles. In the center of the room was a circular couch, from the center of which a plush cylinder extended.

"What is this place?" Tetsuhiro asked.

" _This_ ," Tyrant said, turning around and outstretching his arms, "is my studio."

"Studio?"

"Uh-huh. I chose a more casual look today, so I see why you'd be a little thrown off. I'm _extremely_ skilled with makeup and hair."

Tetsuhiro blinked. "Really?"

"Yup. Doesn't look like it, but I am."

"Well, it does, actually."

"For real?"

Tetsuhiro nodded. "You have the style of someone in the fashion industry."

Tyrant scoffed. "Shit, this is nothing. I'll show you my wardrobe another time, though. Maybe later today. Dunno for sure, though." He gestured Tetsuhiro forward, and he led him to the couch in the middle. "Sit there."

Tetsuhiro obeyed.

Tyrant moved to what Tetsuhiro presumed was the hair-styling vanity. From behind he pulled out a white board, and from within a drawer he pulled out a few markers. He pulled out two connected metal legs from the massive board and set it on the floor. After a bit of securing, Tyrant uncapped a black marker and drew a stick figure on the board.

"That's you," he indicated. "Plain and boring and an insult to your kind."

Did he mean the gay kind or the kind from West?

"An aesthetic has three main parts: clothes, makeup, and hair. Like any appearance does." He wrote the three words on the board with a blue marker. "All are interconnected and all relate to your name."

"Name?"

"Mmm-hmm." He wrote the word in bigger letters on the other side of the stick figure. "That's a _really_ big part of your aesthetic. So big that it's not even grouped with the other ones. It has transcended the other three words to become its own separate being. A name defines you just as much as your actions do. It may be of little significance in other parts of the world, but here, it's one of the things that contributes to a first impression. Again, we'll use me as an example. My name is Tyrant. That reflects my personality because I am…?" He pointed to Tetsuhiro to finish the sentence.

"A...um…"

Tyrant mouthed a 'b.'

"Bastard-faced shit-stain?"

"That does what the fuck he wants," Tyrant added. "But I'll give it to you because you got the most of it. However, that was not originally my name. I got it from other people. That's a big part of names here: other people have to do it for you. It's possible to name yourself, but usually it lacks credibility and won't hold much weight if others didn't name you. I had two names prior to being called Tyrant: Aesthetic and Eccentricity."

"You were named Aesthetic?"

"Yup. I was called both; it depended on the person who referred to me. But since Aesthetic was a _really_ weak and generic name, I was called Eccentricity about...ninety percent of the time."

"Was that your birth name?"

Tyrant scoffed. "God, no. I wasn't born here. Few are."

"Where were you born?"

"Not here," he said.

"But where?"

"Not here," he repeated.

Recognizing the futility of continuing, Tetsuhiro moved on. "So what was your birth name?"

"Not Tyrant, Aesthetic, or Eccentricity."

"I assumed as such."

"Ooh, look at you, all smart and shit. I'm so proud. Anyway, you need a name. And I think I know what to call you. Antithesis."

"Antithesis?"

"Uh-huh. Antithesis means 'the opposite of something.' I've only known you for like an hour, but I already know that you're the complete opposite of me. Therefore, Antithesis is your new name. You like?"

He nodded.

"Of course you do. I came up with it." Tyrant clapped his hands, then turned to the board in front of him. "All right. Antithesis...opposite...difference...contrast—contrast! I've got it! Since you're the antithesis of me, it'd make sense for your aesthetic to contrast mine. However, I love the thought of you in spandex and leather, so instead we're gonna have you contrast yourself. You're gonna have not one, but _two_ aesthetics!"

"Two?"

"Yes, two! A light and dark one. Night and day. Winter and summer. That type of shit." He drew another stick figure beside the first one and started drawing on it. "First we have the light one. I'm thinking a little more inviting and light. Grey and white, maybe some blues of varying shades in there too. Looser, kinda flowy fabrics with more plain footwear. Few accessories, but any that you do have are simple and understated. In terms of hair, I'm thinking we grow it out, then dye it dark blue or purple, maybe with some red in the bottom. Your texture now has a little wave to it, and once it's longer, it'll look especially nice. Relaxed and casual but still appealing. Maybe braid a section or two to keep it out of your face. As for makeup, we probably won't do much. Maybe a little on the eyes just to accentuate your features, but anything else may be overpowering."

He moved over to the next stick figure. It was then when Tetsuhiro realized that Tyrant hadn't drawn much of anything. For the most part he'd noted things.

"And now the dark one," he chuckled, starting to take notes again. "This is gonna be fun. For the most part, it'll resemble my normal aesthetic. Dark clothing—blacks and reds and purples and dark greys. Somewhat tighter fabrics, too, with some leather and spandex. Intimidating but darkly alluring—sexy and dangerous. Accessories like belts and bracelets will have spikes and studs to amp up the intimidation factor. Your hair will be a bit more styled, usually straightened to really emphasize the colors. Ooh, maybe we can give you a fauxhawk or a faux-sidecut. With makeup we'll go a bit heavier. Really dark eyes, maybe some filigree. Ooh, piercings too. Ear cuffs and dangly-ass earrings. Oh, god, this'll be fantastic!"

Though his head spun and he'd only half-understood what Tyrant had just said, Tetsuhiro awaited the semen to start moistening Tyrant's skin-tight pants.

"Hey! Antithesis! You listening?"

"Yeah."

He wasn't, though.

"Good. Go sit your ass over there." Tyrant pointed to the hairstyling vanity. "We're gonna make you beautiful."

"Doesn't it have to grow first?" As he asked the question, he did as Tyrant had instructed.

"Yup. But I've got a way of doing that for you."

Tyrant yanked open a drawer and pulled out a bottle with the letters HGP written in black marker. He opened the bottle, and out popped a blueish pill.

"There's this magical world known as science, you know," he said. "And science does some _insanely fucked-up_ _shit_. Bends the laws of the world to their near-breaking points in order to fulfill our desires. This little pill here bent one such law. It was originally an import from South, but after a few months of studying, a few people up here learned not only how to make it, but also how to make it _better_."

"What's it do?"

"HGP: hair growth pill. It takes about six months' worth of hair growing and puts it into the span of about five minutes. That's how I got mine so long." He set the pill in Tetsuhiro's hand. "Here. Take it."

"Just straight up?"

"Yup. Pills with water is for pussies. Last I checked—" He looked down. "—you do not have one."

Tetsuhiro popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed. Only a few moments after he'd taken the pill, Tetsuhiro's eyes were blinded by blueish-black locks of hair. At the end of the five minutes, Tyrant pushed the frontal hairs away from Tetsuhiro's face and clipped them back.

"How long is it?"

"Uh…" Tyrant looked around. "Middle of your back. A lot shorter than mine, but a lot longer than it was before." He pulled open another drawer and pulled out a few tools: scissors, scissors with teeth on one of the blades, a water bottle, comb, and a few clips. From a large drawer he withdrew a smock, which he then draped around Tetsuhiro's neck. Tyrant stared at him for a few moments, and Tetsuhiro could see the images flashing before his eyes. He nodded once, then proceeded to clip up Tetsuhiro's hair. After that, he began snipping, shearing, and shaping it.

"How long have you been in North?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"Me? I came here when I was seventeen, and I'm twenty-five now, so eight years. I know you've only been here for about a day, but how'd you get here?"

"Prison boat," Tetsuhiro replied.

"Oh, Pits."

"No."

"No?"

"Tombs."

Tyrant paused in his cutting, and Tetsuhiro heard the surprise leak into his voice. "You were gonna go to the Tombs? The fuck did you do?"

"Technically, nothing."

"Ooh, wait! Lemme guess first." Tyrant thought for a moment, then said, "You were in a relationship with some guy, but that guy was part of a family that frowned upon fags. And then...you got caught fuckin' and were charged with rape."

"How'd you guess?"

"Because eight out of ten fag prisoners came for the same or a similar reason. And then the other two actually did commit rape. But none of them ever went to the Tombs. Usually only murderers or extremely insane bastards get sent to the Tombs."

"His family took it a bit seriously."

"I noticed."

About ten minutes later, Tyrant set down his scissors and grabbed a few bottles from a drawer on the bottom of the vanity. A bowl and a few flat brushes followed. Before he did anything, Tyrant turned Tetsuhiro's seat around.

"I'm gonna do a multicolored fade," he said. "I layered your hair into four different sections, and I'll be putting four different colors in. Black, purple, blue, and red, going from top to bottom."

Tyrant set about applying the dyes to Tetsuhiro's hair, twisting the section up with a clip after he'd finished. After about thirty minutes he stepped back.

"Now we let them sit so the color can take." Disposing of his rubber gloves, Tyrant dragged the white board over in front of Tetsuhiro's seat and erased his drawings. "Imma give you a little run-down of North. Kinda like basic geography."

He popped the cap off the black marker and drew a large, abstract oval, which was then divided into five sections. Off to the side of the big oval he drew a small circle.

"That's here," he explained, gesturing to the small island. "The bigass thing is North. North's split up into five sections: Pits, Aethan, Medix, Lacks, and Scrapyards." He wrote the first letter of each on its respective section after saying them.

As Tetsuhiro had a vague idea of what it was, Tyrant started with Pits. At one point it had been a prison, but after the prisoners had formed their own state out of North, the Pits became more of a commerce section. A few businesses called it home, but one end of Pits was connected to a pier. Once every two weeks ships would come in and unload various pieces of cargo, which were then sold to everyone and anyone who wanted them. However, that only made up a fourth of the massive area, which made up a little over half the island. The other three had been turned into battlefields for an event known as the Turnir Rounds. In essence, Turnir was a battle game in which a bracket of about twenty people would compete in fights until one was crowned champion. Two of these arenas resembled boxing rings, but one of them was an all-out death match. Each fight had two participants, and it didn't end until one of the fighters was dead. Officially it was called 'Death Match,' but most Northerners referred to it as 'the Royale.'

After that came Medix. Similar to Pits, it was a center for commerce, but it was a much larger one. Medix primarily death in food and medicine, as the name implied. Most dealings involved money, though barter and trade did exist in small amounts. Tyrant explained that Medix's biggest feat was its massive selection of drugs, most of which were produced illegally or immorally. But as Tyrant had said, "Tip six: speak with your eyes, not your ears. If you ain't see shit, it's none of your business."

About the same size was Lacks, the residential area. A few islands did accompany the main island of North, but very few people actually lived on them, such as Tyrant. The other twenty thousand residents lived in apartments and houses—most of which were fixed-up pieces of the destroyed buildings—in the district. Alongside the homes were recreational centers, such as parks and clubs. Tyrant described it as a neutral zone; upstanding citizens and black-hearted criminals could sit on the same park bench without any fear.

Scrapyards lay the closest to Tyrant's island, and he'd said that if Tetsuhiro went further into the city, he would've found the area that had given the district its name. In the past, ships from the other areas of Dyamondix had dumped their trash in North for decades. At one point the Northerners had attempted to stop this issue, but after only a few months of retaliation, they'd decided to stop, for many objects dumped there turned out to have wonderful amounts of potential. Weapon trade also occurred there, and Tyrant told Tetsuhiro that his weapon had come from a Scrapyard forger.

Finally, the smallest of them all—Aethan. Taken from the word 'aesthetic,' Aethan was a center for fashion, hosting shops for clothes, makeup, hair, and anything else external that could contribute to a person's aesthetic. Unsurprisingly, Tyrant considered it his favorite district, and it was where he spent most of his time.

"Is that where you got your names from?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"Yup. All of them."

"Really?"

Tyrant nodded. "Aesthetic came from my extreme concern for my appearance, which I still have to this day. Eccentricity came from both my fluctuating style and personality."

"And Tyrant?"

He chuckled. "That entails the story of back. Well, when I first came here, my knowledge of hair landed me a job in a salon in Aethan. I was the only bastard in the place, and all the bitches who worked there loved me. Surprising, though, since I was a complete bastard to _all of them_. Then again, I'm feminine-looking and bisexual, and for some reason bitches love bastards who have those two qualities. Anyway, one day I'm up in my workspace makin' shitty strands beautiful like I do best. Well, this purple-haired motherfucker waltzes his fancy ass up in my space that same day. Apparently he'd never come before, since he was all like 'who the fuck's this bastard?' So I answer, we have a little talk, voices are raised, words go acidic—in the end, I ended up stabbing him in the thigh with scissors. I was aimin' for his dick, but he moved. Anyway, a few swings of the scissors and cracking of the hairspray bottles later, he lands on the floor and gets rushed out to the nearest Medix center. Couple days after I get a letter telling me that I'm the new leader of Aethan. Turns out the guy I fought was the former leader. By Northern law, if you kill a district leader, you become the district leader. From then on, I was known as Tyrant."

"Very elaborate story."

"Nah, 'at shit was basic. Coulda gone into more detail, but you're about done."

Tetsuhiro had kept his eyes closed through most of the process that followed, but he knew he'd had his hair washed, stroked, and blow-dried. When he did open them, his hair resembled the mane of a jungle animal.

"You're not keeping it this way, right?"

"'Course not. I have too much integrity for that."

He withdrew from a tangle of wires and cords a device. It consisted of two paddles, about an inch in width, that would clamp together if squeezed. He plugged the cord of the shiny blue device into the nearest outlet. After pushing a few buttons, he set it down. Grabbing a plastic white bottle labeled "HP," Tyrant lifted up various sections of Tetsuhiro's hair and sprayed.

"This'll keep your shit from burning off. It's heat protectant. Basically, it acts as a lil' barrier. So instead of the natural oils in your hair, the protectant gets burned off. If you see steam, don't worry."

Using a claw clip, Tyrant sectioned off the top of Tetsuhiro's hair from the rest of it. Grabbing the device, Tyrant glided it through his now-red tresses. He then repeated this with the blue, purple, and black sections.

"Flip your head over," he instructed.

Tetsuhiro obeyed.

Another bottle reached Tyrant's hand, and more product entered his hair. When Tetsuhiro flipped his head back over, Tyrant fixed the pieces in front of his face.

The idea of having four different colors in his hair had sounded ridiculous at first, but seeing it now, his eyes may as well have been hearts. Though Tyrant had straightened his locks, it was still fluffy and voluminous, far more so than he'd ever remembered. The colors weren't obnoxious at all, instead darker shades that gradually faded into one another.

"You like?"

"I like."

"Good." Tyrant patted Tetsuhiro's head lovingly. "Anyway, clothes are next. But for that, we'll need to do a lil' traveling."

"To Aethan?"

"No, just to my wardrobe."

Tetsuhiro stared up at him. "Really?"

Tyrant's gaze was flat. "Do I look like I'm the same size as you? We'll have to go into Aethan. But not yet. I'm in no mood. _Instead,_ we're just gonna lax off here."

"'Lax off?'"

"Ah, right, you dunno. 'Lax off' means 'to relax.' Slang term. Started by the sexier of the two of us."

Now it was Tetsuhiro's gaze that went flat. He was an absolute dick, but the absolute visibility of his dick was just enough to keep him from abandoning Tyrant. That and Tyrant's apparent position of district leader. Considering that Tetsuhiro was essentially in a foreign land, he'd need all the assistance he could get.

And who better to ally with than a person with status that was mildly infatuated with him?


	9. Chapter 9

Tetsuhiro had assumed that 'lax off' meant to just relax for a few hours, maybe a day before going back to the main island. However, after a week, he still hadn't been out of Tyrant's home. Apparently Tyrant took his laxing _extremely_ seriously. He was fully confident that Tyrant had slept for almost a day straight.

In that time, Tetsuhiro had taken to exploring the erratic home he now shared. Most of the spires—Tyrant also called them turrets from time to time—were bedrooms. Most looked the same, but according to Tyrant, each held a little 'surprise.' Of course, this surprise was always sexual. When he'd lain in his bed the first night, Tetsuhiro had found more than one dildo hidden in the sheets. Along with them was a note.

 _;) ~Tyrant_

He had meticulous handwriting; wholly unfitting of both what the note referred to and how 'I don't have time for these niceties' he was.

This behavior hadn't gone away, however, as Tyrant had both left and interrupted things Tetsuhiro was saying in favor of his own opinions. This was rather annoying, but at the same time it wasn't that hard to tune him out. Not whenever Tyrant's wardrobe was far louder than his words. Sexier, too, as he often wore spandex underwear without a shirt or pants. And that bulge was _delicious_.

Currently that delicious bulge was nowhere to be seen, the owner of it probably sleeping, as he did most times. Tetsuhiro lay sprawled out on a couch on the first floor. Despite his distaste for couches, he did have one. Otherwise it was armchairs, futons, and pillows.

"Sneak attack!"

In an instant something had fallen atop Tetsuhiro's body, making him tense and ready himself for battle. A moment later he recovered, and with a groan and sigh, he scowled. Tyrant had been riding on the ceiling rails—the handles of which were propelled by a motor—and had let go _right_ over Tetsuhiro. Currently he laughed in that obnoxiously sexy way of his. While he revelled in his 'victory,' Tetsuhiro revelled in one of his own. Tyrant wore little more than skin-tight leather boxers, the sides of which were laced, so his creamy skin peeked out. Though he couldn't see it well, he felt Tyrant's bulge against his own.

Once he'd stopped laughing, Tyrant adjusted himself so he lay flat atop Tetsuhiro. He rested his elbows on either side of Tetsuhiro's neck, placing his head in his hands. His legs bent and crossed behind him.

"You like?"

"Like what?"

"Anything."

"Nonspecific."

"Specificity unneeded."

"Context needed."

"This situation."

"Ah. Well, my stomach aches now, but overall I'm fine."

"The view's worth it?" He smirked, and his eyes twinkled arrogantly. "I know, baby. I'm beautiful."

Tetsuhiro's eyes narrowed a bit. He wasn't wrong—not by a long shot. But his vanity was angering at times. At least once an hour he brought it up— _at least_. It took all the fun out of everything.

Tyrant readjusted himself so he straddled Tetsuhiro's hips and stood on his knees. Gently Tyrant bounced up and down, vaguely grinding against him. His eyes narrowing further, Tetsuhiro sat up and scowled at him. Tyrant simply smirked back.

"Mmm, you look so pretty when you're pissed. What's wrong, baby?"

"You. As a whole."

He scoffed. "Oh? Do tell."

"This entire ordeal. You just _fell_ on top of me. And now you're grinding on me like a club whore."

"Most would say 'thank you,'" Tyrant told him matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really? Based on what I've seen, you're quite the little whore."

He chuckled softly. "Whore? How so?"

"You know how. Every few minutes you flirt or try to grope me."

He chuckled again. "Again, most would say 'thank you.' You're very unappreciative. Bitchy too." He hopped off Tetsuhiro's body and sauntered his supple ass away. "Tell me when the blood's done leakin' out your vag."

Tetsuhiro glared at Tyrant's back. Then an idea popped into his head. Of all the rules and tips Tyrant had shared, he'd never said…

Allowing himself to drift back to the personality he'd possessed before prison, Tetsuhiro rose. Tyrant was on his way toward the front door, but before he could reach it, Tetsuhiro grabbed him from behind, grabbed him by the back of his head, and forced his mouth onto Tyrant's. The long-haired sex bomb tensed for a moment, a somewhat high-pitched noise of exclamation escaping his mouth. Tetsuhiro forced his tongue into Tyrant's mouth, going far enough that he was convinced he'd choke him. At this point, though, Tetsuhiro didn't care. Maybe this would convince Tyrant that Tetsuhiro didn't play. He may have been dead inside, but he was nowhere near dead below. The harder he sucked the life from Tyrant's mouth, the harder he grew.

He forced Tyrant against the nearest wall, his hold still tight. None too gently Tetsuhiro spread Tyrant's legs open with one of his own. One of Tyrant's legs resting atop his thigh, Tetsuhiro thrust his groin against Tyrant's leather-covered one. Each thrust moved Tyrant up and down the wall.

As he moved, Tetsuhiro skillfully undid Tyrant's boxers—it looked difficult, but he'd noticed earlier that they had a zipper on the crotch. When he grabbed Tyrant's member, he found it rock-solid—unsurprising. With a rapid hand Tetsuhiro pumped Tyrant's dick, eliciting muffled moans from Tyrant's still-captive lips. Within a minute of movement, Tyrant released in a glorious eruption of stickiness and heat. Tetsuhiro bit down on Tyrant's tongue and leaned back. Before he could rip it out, however, he let it go.

Tyrant fell to the floor in a ball, his head lowered. He heaved and hacked, as if recovering from drowning. Though, in a sense, Tetsuhiro had drowned him in saliva. His face was completely red, and sweat trickled down his cheeks. Tetsuhiro found himself panting a bit too. He hadn't done anything like that in half a year—nothing that intense, anyway.

"Tired, baby?" he murmured lowly.

Tyrant slowly turned his head up, still blushing brightly. "Marry...me…" he panted. "Now…"

Tetsuhiro simply stared down at him, licking up the semen that remained in his hand. A soft moan drifted from Tyrant's mouth, and if possible, his blush brightened further.

"I told you you were a whore," Tetsuhiro mumbled, walking away.

He made it only a few feet before something grabbed his arm. He turned, only to see Tyrant standing shakily, still a complete mess.

"What?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"You...you're still hard, aren't you?"

"Why?"

He didn't respond, instead gently tugging Tetsuhiro into the dining area. He hopped onto the empty table, and he spread his legs wide.

"Go ahead," Tyrant murmured. "Fuck me."

His gaze was a sort of harsh vulnerability. He was in no position to demand anything, but he had a sort of commanding air about him that made him difficult to resist. He did look rather delectable. He'd removed his leather boxers entirely, but he hadn't cleaned up at all, so his muscular body still dripped with semen. Already he was hard again, and his hole was a _lovely_ shade of pinkish-red. And he was seated atop a table— _begging_ to be eaten.

He didn't remove his clothes entirely—he removed his shirt and tossed it aside, then freed his throbbing dick from his pants and boxers.

"No fingers," Tyrant said. "I want it raw."

"I can't go in straight," Tetsuhiro replied. He reached out and scooped a decent amount of semen from his receiver's body, coating his dick in it. Tyrant moaned as he watched, tilting his head back and clenching his ass. Once he was thoroughly covered, Tetsuhiro grabbed the bends of Tyrant's legs and spread them wide. Tyrant moaned with the tone of a god—a god who was _begging_ to be destroyed.

Tetsuhiro rammed himself into the stretched hole, eliciting a massive groan from Tyrant's mouth. His back arched, and his ass clenched tight around Tetsuhiro's dick.

"Ugh, you sex beast!" Tyrant moaned.

He couldn't help but smirk at the title. Not strongly, of course, but definitely a little turn of his lips. He leaned forward and sunk his teeth into Tyrant's neck. Tyrant's head tilted back, and his moaning grew far louder. Tetsuhiro pulsed within Tyrant as his delicious sounds made sweet, tender love to his ears.

After leaving a sizeable hickey, Tetsuhiro pumped his way in and out of Tyrant's body. Each movement set off fireworks in his groin, and grunts drifted out of his mouth. Tyrant bucked his hips to match each of Tetsuhiro's thrusts, which grew more and more intense as Tyrant kept moaning. He was _definitely_ not an amateur; no, he knew his way around a dick the way an artist knew his way around a brush.

"Harder…!" he cried. "Don't hold anything back, bitch!"

In response Tetsuhiro reached down and twisted Tyrant's member harshly. Undoubtedly it was painful, but Tyrant simply screamed and moaned louder and louder than he had before. Moments later Tyrant released, his back arching and voice screeching out a symphony of ecstasy.

Tetsuhiro came shortly after, filling his receiver up. But he wasn't done. No, he was _nowhere_ near done with him yet.

He ripped himself out of Tyrant's hole, then dropped to his knees. He stuck his tongue into Tyrant's abused hole, earning a sharp gasp from Tyrant. He sucked and licked the liquids with no restraint, his fingers digging into Tyrant's thighs as he kept them spread far apart. Tyrant's body rocked and jerked with each jerk of Tetsuhiro's tongue.

Abruptly he exited Tyrant's ass and moved to his dick. Pre-release started dripping out of the tip, and within a few minutes Tetsuhiro knew much more would come. Tyrant thrusted as his back continually arched off the table. Tetsuhiro gagged a little, but overall he just sucked and nibbled and scratched the extremely sensitive skin with his teeth. As predicted, Tyrant came only a few minutes later, his screams loud and intense.

Keeping the release in his mouth, Tetsuhiro pressed his forehead to Tyrant's. Slowly he opened his mouth, and the semen dripped onto Tyrant's face. He looked straight out of porn, even more than he already did. His breathing was ragged and heated, his cheeks burning bright. After keeping eye contact for a good minute, Tetsuhiro traced his undoubtedly filthy tongue over Tyrant's face, cleaning him of any remaining white.

"You…are...beautiful…" Tyrant whispered.

"Thanks."

"See? I'm nice...I provoked you...into sex…next time...say 'thank you' earlier...you fucking sex beast."


	10. Chapter 10

For the next few hours, a game of 'how rough can this shit get,' ensued. Five, maybe six times they had sex, and that questionable number was only as such because they moved positions five or six times. As for how many times semen spurted from either of them—well, that number was a bit too difficult to pinpoint.

Following a particularly intense session—their last, incidentally—both of them had practically passed out. A red-faced, panting Tyrant lay in a sprawled heap atop Tetsuhiro's bare, semen-covered body. His hair had long since passed the point of tangled, but it had an appealing knottedness to it. Tetsuhiro ran his fingers through one section of his hair that hadn't turned into a rat's abode. Despite how much Tyrant abused his hair, it was surprisingly smooth. Then again, he also went through an entire bottle of hair growth pills a week—or, at least, that's what he'd said.

"You good yet?" Tetsuhiro whispered. He couldn't get much louder without tearing his vocal cords apart. About an hour and a half ago he and Tyrant had gotten into an aggressive shouting match—he'd won. Somehow.

"Do I look good?" Tyrant mumbled.

"You don't have to be a dick about it," Tetsuhiro replied.

"Fuck you."

"I already did."

Tyrant lifted himself a little and scowled. "I hate you," he mumbled.

"Really?" He scooped up a bit of semen from his chest and licked his finger. "This says otherwise."

"Fuck off."

Tetsuhiro reached for Tyrant's dick, only for the rat-haired bastard to jerk away and fall to the floor. Tetsuhiro rolled his eyes and lay on his side, his arm under the only unsoiled pillow in the place. He was ninety percent certain that Tyrant's reactions were fake, but he still enjoyed what had happened. Anything was nice after going without sex for about six months, but what Tyrant had given him resembled the most delectable confectionary there was.

"You gonna get up or not?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"Probably not," Tyrant replied.

"Why not?"

"Too far. Too wet."

"You weren't upset a few minutes ago."

"I was more heated a few minutes ago."

"You're cleaning this shit up," Tetsuhiro told him.

He didn't have to turn around to know that Tyrant had sat up. "Bullshit I'm cleaning it up. You're the bitch!"

"You made this mess, Tyrant."

"Bullshit!"

"True shit. Everything that was mine is in you in some way."

"I will piss all over this fucking bed."

Rather than dignify it with a response, Tetsuhiro closed his eyes and scoffed. Tyrant growled softly, but from what he could hear, he'd just climbed into bed like a sensible person. For the next few minutes nothing occurred, just breathing. Despite being durable, Tetsuhiro was human, and as such he was victim to exhaustion. Experiencing that now, his entire body was ready to shut down and plunge him into a twelve-hour-long nap.

But Tyrant instead decided to send him into a twelve-hour-long shower.

He reacted the way that anyone would react to having piss showered upon them like a waterfall—intense flailing and shouting. He didn't regret mocking Tyrant, but he saw why others would have done so in his situation, as he fell onto the floor with the semen-stained blanket wrapped about him. Even still, Tyrant rained his golden shower upon Tetsuhiro. After some more intense flailing, Tetsuhiro threw off the blanket and scrambled to the corner of the room.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?!" Tetsuhiro shouted.

"I warned you."

"I didn't think you were serious!"

"Cuz you're dumb."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck _you_."

"I already did."

They scowled at one another for a solid minute before Tyrant hopped off the bed. "Well, when you're done bein' a bitch-ass, join me in the bathroom. We can shower together."

"Who said I wanted to?"

"Me, the divines in the sky, and this ass." He clicked his tongue before exiting the bedroom.

At first Tetsuhiro resolved to just shower separately, but after realizing how uncomfortable piss felt after it went cold, he acquiesced and dragged himself to the bathroom.

This little cycle continued for around a week, up to and including Tyrant pissing on Tetsuhiro, even when he complied with the probable schizophrenic's requests for showering together. For the most part, the showers were uneventful. Just a normal shower, simply shared. Except for the few times when Tyrant would use a washcloth to pelt Tetsuhiro's ass, but yanking his ample hair usually took care of that. Perhaps Tyrant wanted to give him some sort of retribution for 'wrecking his ass,' even though Tyrant had instigated each ravagement brought upon it.

On an especially overcast, somewhat snowy day, Tyrant came up from the styling studio in an outfit relatively normal—by Tyrant standards, anyway. Black denim vest, elaborate hairstyle—though now dyed light purple—artistic filigree about his eyes, and spiked bracelets. However, two things seemed out of place. First up, laced boots reached slightly above his knee when he usually went barefoot. Even more shocking, however, were the pleather pants covering his legs.

 _Pants._

"The fuck you so fancy for?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"Shit, I'm always fancy," Tyrant scoffed. "But for this particular occasion, it's balls cold, I have an aesthetic, and we're going shopping."

"What?"

"Pronoun check?"

"Preferably."

" _We_. Pronoun. Meaning 'two or more people.' Used in first person. Related word being 'us.' Contextual meaning, _we_ are shopping for _your_ ass so _your_ ass can be fancy."

"Finally getting me clothes?"

"Ey, there he is! There's my ability to interpret meaning! And here I was, thinking you didn't know how shit worked. But yeah, your ass is getting clothes."

"Finally. Your shit's too small."

"Not my shit, babe."

"Really?"

"Nah. Over the years of thrashing and trashing, I've collected many a clothing item from those who have kept me company. I gave you the shit I thought would fit you. Figured you wouldn't want bras and skirts."

"I'm surprised you do," Tetsuhiro mumbled.

Tyrant's eyes narrowed. "You wanna fight?"

"I'm just surprised that you're willing to 'thrash' pussy."

He scoffed and chuckled. "Fitting that you're surprised. But one thing bitches love is men who look like women. Anyone who refutes that is either lying, in denial, or a dyke."

"I was starting to doubt there were any women here in the first place."

"Oh, they're here. You just can't tell sometimes because some of the men do what I mentioned above. Case and point, this ass. Now, drag your ass behind me and we'll venture into Aethan."

* * *

Save from his first day there, Tetsuhiro hadn't ventured off Tyrant's island at all. It wasn't for lack of desire. In fact, he wanted to explore as much as North as possible, taking in the culture and seeing if Tyrant interacted with others the same way he interacted with Tetsuhiro. His name was gained from stabbing someone with scissors for annoying him, but he had difficulty in seeing Tyrant as a figure people took seriously.

However, after docking the jet ski and strolling down the cobbled walkway that led to the district, Tetsuhiro took notice of the whispers and concerned looks of those they passed. Most had appearances somewhat reminiscent of Tyrant—electric hair colors, elaborate makeup, and somewhat ornate outfits. Surprisingly, Tyrant's outfit seemed tame.

Eventually they stopped before a shop with a lavender facade and dark lettering that read "Aethan Expertise." Tyrant reached into a pocket he apparently had and pulled out a wad of paper.

"Fifty, hundred, one-five, two, three, four-five…" He handed about half the stack to Tetsuhiro. "There's about four thousand there. That should cover it."

"Cover what?"

"Cost of your shit."

"You're not coming with me?"

"Fuck, no. I'd buy more shit for myself and piss you off cuz I'd spend twelve hours in there easily. I'm going for a walk."

"How'll I know what to get?"

He scoffed. "You think I'm an amateur? I ordered your shit in advance and got a message today that it was done. That's why I've been gone over the past few weeks."

"Oh, how nice of you."

"Shit, I know. Just go in and say 'I need Tyrant's shit,' hand him the payment, do _not_ say 'thank you,' and then walk out. Just sit somewhere and wait like a good little bitch. I don't need your dick getting lopped off because you went somewhere you shouldn't have gone. Oh, actually, no. Find a bathroom somewhere and change into the white outfit with light blue trim on it. That way you won't look like the slaves."

He flashed a peace sign before strolling his merry ass away.

As Tyrant had instructed, Tetsuhiro went into the shop, retrieved his clothing, and, most importantly, didn't say 'thank you.' Even if Tyrant hadn't said so, he wouldn't have done it anyway. The shopkeeper was a short, stout man that barely came past Tetsuhiro's waist. His face seemed to be fixated in a permanently fucked-up hybrid of a scowl and a scrunch, and he spoke in a mumbled way that sounded both disgusted and mocking.

Finding a bathroom proved rather simple, though the interior wasn't exactly desirable. It was dirty, damp, and dank. Nevertheless, he entered a stall, stripped, and dressed himself in the white outfit. To his relief and surprise, Tetsuhiro's outfit wasn't something out of a brothel. Rather, it seemed straight out a fairytale. The shirt stretched to mid-thigh, belted with a light blue cloth that tied in the back. Attached to the blue pads on the shoulders was a cloak that enveloped his body. The pants were loose and breathable, tucked into light grey boots that reached mid-calf. Though not what he would've picked for himself, he did look fine as hell.

Upon exiting the bathroom, he set about his next task: finding Tyrant. Knowing nothing about the geography, he pulled aside a man—at least, he thought they were male—and asked about his habits when in Aethan. He pointed out a club about a block down, and after a quick nod, Tetsuhiro went off to find him.

The club itself wasn't nearly as seedy as its name "Slippery Walls" implied. Maroons and purples marked the walls, and the women and men grinding against poles were dressed in shorts and bras with dangling beads that jingled with each movement. Those watching didn't look like the unfaithful, unkempt forty-somethings that Tetsuhiro was accustomed to seeing in strip clubs. Rather, they were all well-dressed—by Northern standards, anyway—and weren't shouting at the dancers to get naked.

Finding Tyrant didn't take nearly as long as Tetsuhiro expected. Only a moment after walking in, he viewed Tyrant approaching him. His lavender hair looked a bit tousled, and his vest had one more button opened than earlier. He glanced up at Tetsuhiro, blinked a few times, and moved closer.

"Ooh, damn, you look good," Tyrant said. "Glad to see they fit well. Hopefully all the others do, too."

"You done here?"

"Yeah. Unless you wanna stay…"

"I'd prefer not to. I'm more interested in learning about the area."

"Ah, I suppose that would be good to know. Le's go, then." He threw an arm around Tetsuhiro's shoulder and led him out of the club.

"Why'd you go there?"

"To have sex."

Tetsuhiro looked at him. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to have sex. Why?" He grinned. "Jealous?"

"No, confused."

"Well, as you may have noticed, most the dancers had holes in front and back. You're a fag, but you can figure out the rest."

"Oh, right. You're 'comfortably bisexual.'"

"Ey, don't mock it! I'm very comfortable with my sexuality. I've fucked _a lot_ of people to get here, and I prefer to stay as such."

"I never doubted you. I'm an aficionado of the sexual as well."

"Ooh, look at you, bein' all fancy and shit. Stop that, you'll get killed. Anyway, whataya wanna see?"

"What is there to see? Anything I need to be aware of?"

Tyrant twisted his lips to the side, then snapped his fingers. "Ooh, I know. Gotta show you the palace."

"Palace?"

"Mmm-hmm. My lil' 'base of operation,' essentially."

"Base?"

"Fuck yeah, base! I'm the leader of the fuckin' district. It's only natural that I have a base of operation from which I govern."

Down a few streets they went, until Tyrant stopped in front of a massive building. It resembled an event hall, and in a past life, it probably was. Unlike Tyrant's island abode, this one was much more standard- and stable-looking. Guards dressed in leather outfits—though non-revealing—stood on either side of the double-doors, through which the duo entered easily.

Paintings hung in the halls, though with no definable theme. Same for the sculptures, some of which looked like people while others were abstract. Tyrant explained that his interests were 'wide, not deep.'

Eventually they reached another door, though this one ajar. Tyrant jerked to a halt, and his eyes narrowed. "The fuck? I left this closed…"

He pulled open the door, and instantly he stiffened. It was an office, much more austere than Tetsuhiro expected. Behind the oaken desk, however, sat a person. He had short, gingery-blonde hair, and his features were impish, though he was probably in his mid-twenties. His attire resembled a typical grey suit, but black feathers surrounded the neck, wrists, and ankles, and he lacked a tie. Each hand had rings around each finger, and chains connected the rings before connecting further to a bracelet.

The man smiled. "You're finally back."

" _You_!" Tyrant shouted. Without a moment's hesitation he darted into the room, grabbed a wooden chair, jumped in front of the desk, and smashed said chair onto said desk. His target moved back, avoiding the wooden splinters that followed. Tyrant, crouching atop the desk and holding two of the broken legs, leapt toward him again and stabbed the wall with the legs. Again his attack missed, and his target's hands grabbed hold of Tyrant's wrists. In an instant Tyrant had his back to the man, his arms restrained behind his back.

"Honestly, Tyrant, I thought you would've known better. Breaking chairs is rather rude."

"Fuck you!" Tyrant spat, fidgeting about in his hold in a futile attempt to break free. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"I got a bit lonely in Medix, so I thought I'd drop in to see my favorite little fireball. You weren't here when I came, so I decided to wait for you."

"How long have you been in here?!"

"I dunno. Three, maybe four hours."

"And no one threw you out?!"

"I told them you invited me."

"And they _believed_ you?!"

"You know how persuasive I am."

He chuckled while Tyrant continued spouting threats and nonsense. All the while, Tetsuhiro stood in the doorway, staring more at the broken chair than the struggle. That is, until the man looked up at him.

"Who's this? You brought a friend?"

Tyrant abruptly ceased shouting to look up at Tetsuhiro.

He continued, "Who are you?"

"Tetsu—Antithesis."

"Ooh, fancy. Who named you?"

"Tyrant."

"Really?" He glanced at Tyrant for a brief moment before returning his gaze to Tetsuhiro. "I can see why. You're absolutely nothing like him. Interesting that he's befriended a Westerner. He has bad blood with—"

"Ulmo!" Tyrant hissed.

"Oh, all right, I won't tell. Now, I'm gonna let you go, and if you attempt to maim me after I do, my tongue may or may not slip."

He released Tyrant, who mumbled obscenities while making his way over to Tetsuhiro once more. Tyrant looked up and hissed, "What the fuck are you waiting for? Leave!"

"What, without an introduction? Really, your manners are atrocious."

"You have a voice and a functioning mentality—you can introduce yourself."

He sighed. "Fine. Well, Antithesis, my name is Ulterior. Sometimes I'm referred to as 'Ulmo,' as the lovely Tyrant so kindly shrieked. As you could probably guess, it's a combination of 'Ulterior' and 'Motive,' which is my full name."

"He's a bastard," Tyrant grumbled.

Ulterior chuckled. "He isn't wrong. On a more formal scale, though, I'm the leader of Medix and a bridge between the mainland nations and North for trading. My persuasion abilities allow me to perform that duty with utmost efficacy."

"Why're you a bastard?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"Well, I'm very persuasive, so that comes off as arrogance to some. In Tyrant's case, well...he's just a little scorned."

"You were lovers at one point?"

Tyrant slammed his elbow into Tetsuhiro's stomach, sending the latter's upper half into a bent state.

Ulterior simply laughed. "Not quite. We fooled around a little, but in the end we weren't able to fully commit to each other. He was too explosive, and I was too distant. Even so, though, we managed to form a great bond."

Perhaps 'great' was an understatement. Based on what Ulterior had said, he had a massive hold over Tyrant. Perhaps a secret, or maybe some kind of threat.

Whatever it was, Tetsuhiro desperately wanted in on it.


	11. Chapter 11

In the end, Tyrant wasn't the least bit successful in removing Ulterior from his 'palace.' In fact, the Tyrant-proclaimed 'bastard' made himself comfortable on a chaise that Tyrant had in his office. However, the long-haired vixen had left the room, claiming that he had 'more tolerable matters' to attend to. This left Tetsuhiro alone with the mysterious Ulterior, and his mind began to scan over the incidents that had just occurred.

Bad blood with those from West. That's what Ulterior had mentioned. What did it mean, though? Past conflict? Current conflict? Fear of future conflict? Most likely all three, probably more. Though erratic in personality and sporadic in action, Tyrant was by no means careless. At least, not when it mattered. Instead, he scanned over a majority of possibilities and determined the best option from that. It was obvious to tell when he did so—his gaze changed. It almost seemed as if his eyes darkened. Rather than boisterous and flamboyant, he gave off an air of collection and calmness. He may have gained control of the territory through fighting the previous leader, but based on his selfish personality, many people probably hated him, perhaps to the point of wanting to murder him. Yet here—or, rather, there—he was, still alive.

"How long have you been with Tyrant?"

Tetsuhiro looked up at Ulterior. Laid out languidly on the chaise, he'd retrieved a glass and some wine from a cabinet within the office, and currently he sipped it at his leisure. He looked like some sort of tyrant himself, though not over people. No, he was a tyrant of the impish and beguiling. Tetsuhiro would have to keep wary of him.

"As in, living with him?"

"You live with him?"

"Yeah. At his request."

"Ooh, interesting. Then yes, from there."

He shrugged. "A few weeks. Why do you ask?"

Ulterior did the same. "Just curiosity. I love knowing about his affairs. That's what friends are supposed to do, after all."

"Bold title."

"I suppose so. It all depends on how you look at it. You and I have different eyes, Antithesis. Or would you prefer if I called you something different? Like...what was it you were saying before? Tetsu…?"

He didn't reply. Instead he stared, impassive as ever. Ulterior chuckled and sipped from his glass.

"It shows that you haven't been here long. You're _very_ sloppy. Luckily for you, your real name can only be revealed if you say it. Granted, there will be a few people who will want to know who you are. Especially since you're from West. Your aesthetic helps you look like a Northerner, but that's only at face value. Most view them with hostility here, but some of them...some of them see opportunity. Money. Power. Influence. You come from a family of worth?"

"Fuck if I know," Tetsuhiro replied. "Haven't talked with them in years."

"Ah, a scorned gay son. Yes?"

"Not scorned. Just hateful."

He made a soft noise and sipped again. "Does Tyrant know your real name?"

Tetsuhiro paused for a moment. Come to think, Tyrant had never asked him for his real name. "No," he said.

"Tyrant's a special case. His hate for West is _extremely_ passionate. Had you told him your real name, he would've killed you. And he doesn't ask because he knows that he would kill you if he knew. And this has been bothering me since the moment you walked in."

"What?"

"Why did you trust him instantly? He could've killed you the moment he saw you."

He recalled his first meeting with Tyrant, and had it not been the familiarity that Ulterior possessed toward Tyrant, Tetsuhiro would've been embarrassed to speak of it.

"Well, I encountered a bastard when I first came that tried to capture me to sell my organs. Tyrant intervened and said that he wanted to help me. I asked why I should've trusted him, and he told me that I had to, since he saved me."

"How noble. I can see why he took an interest in you. You're quite attractive."

Tetsuhiro smirked. "He likes that?"

"Tyrant likes everything. He's a whore."

"I know. I've seen."

"I figured. Was it rough?"

"Extremely."

"He likes that too. So you live with him, have sex with him, and trust him?"

"I suppose."

"But should you?"

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Should you trust Tyrant? You've only known him for a short period of time. How much do you even know about Tyrant? Do you know his history? Secrets? Motives and goals?"

Tetsuhiro didn't reply; he couldn't.

"Thought not." He smirked. "Surely you heard me earlier, even over Tyrant's shouting. I hold a bit of influence over him."

"I did hear that."

"Are you wondering what that influence is?"

Though his nod was calm, Tetsuhiro's inner-self yearned to know what he knew. Tyrant held massive influence on Tetsuhiro, so a little influence over him could be beneficial. He didn't plan on staying with Tyrant forever.

"Do you want me to tell you?"

"You won't."

"Indeed. I'm not dumb. Tyrant and I made a contract awhile back, and that contract is something I would like to uphold. But I will tell you two things. First, Tyrant's scorn doesn't come from his family. He was actually _very_ close with them. Second, he wasn't sent here like most. He was a prisoner, but he was by no means typical."

"Very interesting." And yet so unsatisfying.

Footsteps approached from outside, and both heads turned to the door. Tyrant entered with a stern expression on his face, his figure much more powerful than it had ever looked before. He turned his gaze to Ulterior immediately.

"What were you discussing?" Ulterior asked.

"I could ask you the same."

Even his voice was deeper, colder and far stronger. Tetsuhiro felt himself harden a bit.

Ulterior chuckled and set his wineglass down. "Nothing you need to be concerned about." He rose from the chaise, adjusting his bracelets. "Well, I've been here for more than long enough. I wish you the best, Tyrant. You as well, Antithesis." His eye gleamed a bit in Tetsuhiro's direction. Without another word, Ulterior abandoned the space.

His tone the same, Tyrant turned Tetsuhiro's way. "You almost told him your name. Yes?"

He nodded. Tyrant had undoubtedly heard, so there was no point in lying.

"Never do that. I didn't ask you for a reason, and I'd prefer not to know. The best thing you can do is wipe that name from your mind. Stop thinking of yourself as Tetsu-whatever. You're Antithesis now. Remember that."

"I will," he affirmed.

 _And I'll remember this talk, too._

* * *

In all technicality, Tyrant and Antithesis were alone after Ulterior had left the room. However, Tyrant was by no means satisfied with trusting Ulterior, so with Antithesis in tow, he scoured the rest of his palace in search of any sign of Ulterior. When he had found none, Tyrant led him back to the office. The moment he shut the door, he jumped in.

Or, rather, _on_.

He pressed Antithesis against the door and met his lips in an aggressive kiss. His arms wound around Antithesis's neck with little to no concern for gentleness, and he yanked him downward to further choke Antithesis with his tongue.

Rather than shock, Antithesis reacted with a sigh. Why wouldn't he want sex now? He was like a baby: wholly unpredictable in desire and extremely excessive in quantity of want. Wonderful. Absolutely _wonderful._ Granted, it wasn't all that horrible. No, sex with Tyrant did produce intense physical pleasure that he had never replicated with anyone before. But it was just that—physical pleasure. Though he complied with Tyrant's desire for roughness, having sex with him was more bothersome than enjoyable.

Still, he cupped Tyrant's cheek with one hand and secured his other arm tightly around his stud-belt-clad waist, pulling him close. Though his pants were tight pleather, his growing bulge was by no means hindered. Antithesis massaged his side almost tenderly, more out of momentary laziness than actual affection. Undoubtedly he'd be pissed if he saw this annoyance, so Antithesis broke the kiss and turned Tyrant so his back faced Antithesis's front. He pulled him tightly against his crotch—admittedly hardening at the sounds that Tyrant made—and thrust gently against him.

"Didn't you just have sex half an hour ago?" Antithesis murmured into his ear. He nibbled on the rim, and Tyrant let out a soft moan.

"You think I give a shit?" he rasped.

"Just seems a little excessive." His tone deepened. "I knew you were a slut, but I didn't think you were _that_ desperate."

"Shut up," he groaned. "Different kinds were had then."

"Meaning?"

"I stabbed earlier, and now I wanna be impaled."

"Then bend over, bitch," he growled in Tyrant's ear.

Unsurprisingly, he did. Tyrant unbuttoned and pulled down his pants as far as he could, revealing his erect, visibly rock hard member. Antithesis almost felt inadequate compared to him. He pushed over the chaise that Ulterior had once sat upon, and instantly Antithesis acted. He forced Tyrant over the edge of the chaise, pinning him down by holding his shoulders. But he didn't unleash his member. No, he kept himself covered. Instead, he pressed himself against Tyrant's supple, exposed ass and ground, hard and long, until he'd warped Tyrant's grunts into creamy moans. Hopefully this would be over quick—based on his sounds, it wouldn't take that long for him to finish. For good measure, though, Antithesis moved his grasp to Tyrant's hips, and he pushed in hard enough that he thought he'd tear through the fabric of his pants. Tyrant's ass clenched, and with an arched back, he released an intense groan. His body then went a bit limp, and he let out a few pants before standing back up.

"You done?" Antithesis questioned.

"For now," Tyrant affirmed. Surprisingly, he didn't sound as teasing as he usually did after they had sex. His tone was strikingly similar to Antithesis's normal one. With little more than a few sighs, he dragged his pants back up to his waist, leaving them unzipped and unbuckled. From a tall cabinet he retrieved a towel, which he used to clean himself.

"What about the chaise?" A large wet spot marked the area over which Tyrant had been bent, and if Antithesis knew anything about semen—and he knew _lots_ about semen—he knew that it did _not_ dry well on furniture.

"I have workers to clean that shit for me," Tyrant replied.

"Specifically?"

"Mmm-hmm." He pulled up his zipper and belted himself as he spoke. "You think you're the only person I've fucked or been fucked by in here? This room would've been bleached white by now, had it not been for my cleaning staff. Nice bunch of bastards. Young, though, probably twelve or thirteen each."

"You have twelve-year-olds cleaning your leftover sex juices?"

"Why's it matter? Not like they're gonna find work many other places. Works symbiotically in the end: I get my shit cleaned up, and they get enough money to stay alive and out of excessive trouble."

Antithesis nodded. He'd never been partial to children, but he did have to commend Tyrant's generosity.

"So what now? We going back home?"

"Nah. We've only been here about an hour, and twenty minutes of that hour was spent with Ulmo's unfortunate presence near us. So I've decided to spend a lil' more time here with my babe. We're gonna go on a date—shopping and seeing a show."

"Oh, lovely."

"Shit, I know." He winked, and just like that, his playfulness returned. Antithesis couldn't decide whether or not that was a good thing.


	12. Chapter 12

Antithesis had learned very quickly that North had multiple aspects that didn't align in the slightest with the stereotypes that West had possessed toward the island. However, one thing he didn't account for was the transportation system. Most places used roads, water, and rail to travel, and North did use all of these methods. However, they used them in different and admittedly extremely impressive ways. Roads had nothing special about them, save for the fact that they were barely used. They had been used at one point, but after West had ceased giving North oil to power vehicles, they'd strengthened rail and canal travel.

He'd considered Tyrant's jetski both impressive and unique. However, only the former of those adjectives was correct. Jetskis were ubiquitous around North, particularly among traders and those who lived on the islands surrounding the area. Tyrant's jetski had been modified to possess various attachments that could assist in speed, durability, and even combat ability of the ski. What those attachments were specifically, however, Tyrant did not say. He did say, though, that jet skis, boats, and even modified surfboards allowed denizens of North access to the various channels that slithered about the island like veins.

As his ski had sustained a bit of damage from the past few months, Tyrant had sent it off to a shop to get it spruced up. That left the rails for their travel. Much like the other areas of Dyamondix, rail travel either stretched above- or underground. However, the aboveground side of things didn't host trains. Instead, they hosted streetcars that ran on rails attached to the rarely-used streets. For the most part they were used for transport of those who couldn't afford or acquire a jetski or other method of transportation to use for themselves.

The underground system, however, was a more seedy affair.

"Tunnel people?" Antithesis asked.

Tyrant nodded. "They're like the cockroaches of North. Most know 'em as Blinders or Crawlers. I prefer the latter. Basically, they got driven underground for a variety of reasons, mostly because of threats from above. They started off as small camps, but gradually they grew into colonies of likeminded people. Now they have a network of these colonies that operate like a separate district, complete with their own trade, leadership, and even language."

"And that relates how to the rail travel?"

"Not sure if you're aware, but this island's fuckin' massive. Naturally the underground would match. I said there were multiple colonies; well, if they're gonna trade with one another, they've gotta have some kind of travel, right? Couple of 'em managed to rebuild the railway down under, and now they operate it for themselves."

"And they'll help us?"

He shrugged, kicking a stray rock to the side. "Hard to say. Some days are better than others, but for the most part they're pretty cooperative. Long as you give 'em incentive, that is."

"And that is?"

"My presence."

"No, for real."

"This is for real! My ties run deep, baby, far past the surface. Ulmo and I at one point sunk low to keep safe from the Roundsmen. Ah, that was in the olden days of my aesthetic. I was a fetus then. Anyway, we exchanged some supplies and workers for temporary shelter. Luckily we weren't down there too long; would've been converted otherwise, and ooh, that wouldn't have been pretty."

"You act as if you are now."

"Fuck you, I'm beautiful." He stepped in front of Antithesis and took his face in his hands. He pressed a gentle kiss to Antithesis's lips, then smirked up at him. "You're supposed to count your blessings, love, not regret them." He patted Antithesis's cheek twice before continuing to lead him down the street.

They'd been walking for the past fourteen minutes, Tyrant at the front while Antithesis hung back. Once the fifteenth minute hit, they stopped. The duo stood at the top of some stone steps that went downward into a tunnel before being swallowed into darkness.

"Here's where we enter," Tyrant announced. "This route in particular leads to a railcar that should take us to Scrapyards. We'll be getting some shit from there."

Ah, so that's what he'd meant by shopping.

Tyrant nodded toward the tunnel, and the duo traveled down into the darkness. Only a few minutes passed before the darkness consumed them entirely, leaving them completely unable to see.

A little light flickered on below them. It wasn't excessively bright, but it provided enough illumination to keep them from wandering blindly. Antithesis narrowed his eyes at it.

"Is that on your dick?"

"Yup," Tyrant affirmed. "Not very bright, as per Crawler policy, but it's _very_ useful."

"And it's on your dick because…?"

"Where else can I place it so it bounces when I thrust at inappropriate times?"

Antithesis rolled his eyes. "All right. Fair enough."

Though it was dim, Antithesis saw Tyrant smirk at him.

As they continued on, Antithesis noticed more and more signs of the underground denizens. Words and images streaked the walls, more of the former than latter. Though they were words he understood, the connotations in which they were used made no logical sense. _Red wheel under clear paper; dark matter over light air; goggle lamp loves straw plunge—_ and many others. That must have been the "language" that Tyrant had spoken of. The drawings were abstract, but they somewhat resembled weapons and modes of transportation. Trains, knives, wheels, maces—at least, that's what they looked like.

Something scurried in front of them. Tyrant placed his hand in front of Antithesis's chest.

"Hold up," he whispered. "Gotta make our presence known before shit goes primal." In a louder voice, Tyrant shouted, "Bullet rail in demand! Vroom from set platform to elevation metal! Flicker bulbs!"

A little more scurrying, as well as a grumble off to the left. Moments later, the entire space was illuminated by dull yellow lights. The space was split into three: two platforms and one line of rails. The concrete platforms stood a bit more elevated than the rails, on which a small car sat. Like rats people walked and crouched about the area. Their eyes were either bulbous or covered by cloth, though they didn't seem anywhere near affected by the latter. They wore scraps of clothing, characterized by rips, holes, and burns of all sizes. Their fingers were long and their nails curved, the skin completely wrinkled. Tyrant and Antithesis stood on the left platform, closest to the parked car, while the Crawlers stood either on the right one or the rails.

One of them shambled its way forward, eyes covered but movement not hesitant in the slightest. "Bullet rail to elevation metal?" Its voice was definitely male, but it was so gargled and scratchy that it didn't seem human at all.

"Affirm."

It outstretched its misshapen hand. "Offer?"

"Necessity lacking. Titled Tyrant. Former Royal."

The Crawler nodded once, then moved back toward the car. It spoke to another one, and when they finished, the second one motioned the duo forward.

The car looked far past dilapidated, but Tyrant assured Antithesis that it was one of the best that the Crawlers had. Its exterior was completely rusted, but the wheels looked brand new. Moss hung from the roof, and scratches marked the glass of the sliding door. Both stepped inside, and the Crawler closed the door and latched it shut. Inside was a single bulb and two sides of benches. Antithesis seated himself first, and as one would expect, Tyrant nestled right next to him in a lovey gesture. Antithesis glanced at him flatly.

"Must you?"

He nodded. "It's kind of cold in here, and you produce enough warmth to warm my balls."

"Lovely. Mind explaining some shit to me?"

"Depends on what you want."

"All right. What are Roundsmen?"

"Ah, those. Slang term, but basically they're the police of this island. They take those who are the worst of the worst and hunt them down. Once they capture them, they force them to participate in the Turnir Rounds. Kinda like slavers."

"You were running from them?"

"At one point, yeah. But, ah, let's not get into that now. What else?"

"What'd you tell the Crawlers?"

"Ah, that spiel? Basically, I told them to get the car—this one—and take it from here to Scrapyards. And to turn the lights on. For the later part, he asked for payment, and I said that I'm exempt from it because of past relations that I told you about before."

"And Royal?"

The car lurched forward, then gradually picked up speed until it traveled at a consistent pace. Tyrant sighed and kissed Antithesis's cheek.

"We'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Until then, I'll have you keep me warm. It's kinda cold down here."

Antithesis rolled his eyes. "Then wear more clothes. Those should keep you plenty warm."

"Mmm, but I can't cuddle my clothes."

"You could if you tried."

"But they won't cuddle me back…" He whined like a little boy who wanted his mother to buy him a toy. At first, Antithesis tried to push Tyrant off, but each time he did, the bastard simply scooted back and loved him up more. After three of these actions, Antithesis stopped and just sat there.

"I hate you," he hissed.

"I know, baby. I hate you too."

"You don't act like it."

"Cuz I'm courteous. I could've kicked you out of my place weeks ago, but I just couldn't seem to let you go." He altered his position, now laying across Antithesis's lap and looking up at him. "You're just so attractive and dominant. You give me a challenge that I enjoy."

Again he rolled his eyes.

"We need to redye your hair, though. It's fading."

"What color?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Probably just back to your original color. We could change the style, though. Give you a side shave, maybe. Just a little something edgy."

"Maybe." Seeing himself with four different hair colors was a tad odd, and he wasn't that fond of the length, either. Perhaps shaving the side of his head would be somewhat beneficial—it wouldn't get in his way.

"Am I crushing your junk?"

"Nah."

He sat up on Antithesis's lap and wrapped his arms around his neck. "How 'bout now?" he murmured.

"You wanna fuck?" Antithesis asked.

He shrugged. "Dunno for sure. I just like teasin' you." He scooted about a bit on Antithesis's lap. "Seems you like it, too."

"That's not my dick."

"Then what is it?"

"Move off and I'll show you."

"But I'm comfy…!"

Antithesis moved Tyrant off of his lap and pulled down the waistband of his pants. Strapped to his thigh was a small black sheathe, from which he pulled a small black handle. He pushed a button near the top, and instantly two blades about a foot long each popped out. Tyrant blinked.

"The fuck'd you find that?"

"I explore when you leave me alone."

"And I told you that you could use it when?"

"I thought it was implied, since I found it in my room."

"I put a weapon in there? I thought it was just the dildos."

"No, you had this in the wall. There's a little hole beside one of the windows, and I found it in there."

Tyrant paused for a moment, then nodded to himself. "Oh, right. Forgot I put that in there. Well, good for you, having a piece on you in case shit gets violent. Proud of you."

About ten minutes later, their car lurched to a halt, and the door opened. A female Crawler with stringy brown hair and wrinkled skin stood on the tracks.

"Royal and fiend?"

"Tyrant current," Tyrant replied. "Although affirm."

She stepped aside, allowing the duo to exit the car. Tyrant led the way through the dim station. Gradually sunlight trickled in, and only a few moments later, they reached steps similar to the ones they'd used to enter the tunnels.

The outside looked far different than the area they'd previously been in. Rather than bright colors and eccentricity, the area was grey and dilapidated. Few roamed the streets, but those who did were clad in rags or rough-looking clothes. Tyrant and Antithesis stood out more than a tiger in a field of kittens.

"This is Scrapyards?" Antithesis asked.

"Mmm-hmm. Part of it, anyway. Scrapyards is kinda small, due to its role being pretty simple. A lot of the buildings look like shit, but most of them actually have little pawn shop-type operations. Lowkey drugs, too."

"Ah. So what're we shopping for?"

"Parts. Weapons. I dunno. Anything that looks valuable."

Tyrant nodded forward, and they walked down the cracked street together. As they approached a fenced area, Tyrant pulled Antithesis to the side. The fence was made of chain link, wood, metal, and various other materials. Atop the posts, barbed wire looped about for extra security. Tyrant looked to the left, then right, then left once again before turning back to the fence. He grabbed a piece of russet wood and pulled it off the nails with a grunt. Revealed now was a hole in the chain link, which made up the base of the fence.

"Come on."

Tyrant climbed through the hole, and Antithesis followed suit. Carefully Tyrant replaced the wood, then stood and gestured forward.

"This is Scrapyards."

Piles upon piles of assorted garbage dotted the fenced yard, which was by no means tiny. It stretched for at least half a mile, though Tyrant said that it actually stretched for three miles in all directions. He explained that this started off as a dumping grounds for Dyamondix's garbage, but gradually it had transformed into a "commerce spot with personality."

They searched through the massive piles for what felt like hours, pulling out anything somewhat artsy. Tyrant explained that those who lived in Aethan had an affinity for art of any kind, particularly things that seemed unusual or even rare. Sculptures, most broken, and paintings, some with tears, sat in a pile between them. They took only the finer-looking pieces, ones that were almost or completely intact. Antithesis found an interesting-looking one that depicted two men, one with grey hair and a tall frame and the other smaller with brown hair and innocent features. The title was caked in dirt, but he managed to make out the words "Usagi" and "Misak" and "Junj" and "Romantica." When he asked Tyrant about it, he told him that it was worthless and to torch it. As he lacked flame, Antithesis just tossed it aside.

When about three hours had passed, Tyrant led Antithesis—who was stuck carrying the majority of everything—to a ramshackle hut made of what looked like scraps of a boxcar. He didn't enter, instead having Antithesis dump everything through a slot and saying, "Ship 'em to Medix's palace." Some grumbles answered him, but nevertheless everything was taken. They then exited the landfill through the same hole through which they'd entered.

"You sell them, then?" Antithesis asked.

"Not directly. I mostly send 'em to Ulmo. He has a heavy hand in the commerce section of North, so he turns those pieces of shit into profit."

"Why don't you sell them yourself?"

"It'd look suspicious if I was sellin' shit to the people in my district. They'd wonder where the money would go. Then speculations start, and from speculations come rebellions, and from rebellions come Tyrant getting his head cut off and stabbed on a pike. Not the way I wanna go. Speaking of, we need to leave."

"Gonna see that show you were talking about?"

"Nah, changed my mind. I'm, ah...have a little obligation I forgot about. Involves some travel. You'll be stranded on the island for a little."

He shrugged. "Okay." There didn't seem like there'd be much for him to do outside of the island, anyway. He didn't know nearly enough about North to go out on his own, either.

"Mmm, one more thing," Tyrant said.

"What do you want?"

He drifted toward Antithesis, his eyes cast downward. "Well, I'll be gone from the island for about two, maybe three days. I'll miss you a lot, baby. So…" He traced his fingers over Antithesis's crotch, moving even closer and looking up at him. "Can I get a...going-away present when we get back?"

Antithesis stared down at him flatly. Shit, he was more desperate than a starving stripper. He sighed. "Fine."

Tyrant grinned and threw his arms around Antithesis. "Thanks, babe!"

Antithesis rolled his eyes and shoved him away. "Calm down. You're not a teenage girl."

"And your balls aren't shriveled. Why so sour all the time? Is it cuz of the guy that got you thrown in jail?"

"It's more than that," he mumbled. "You make me want to shoot myself in the face repeatedly."

"Ooh, look whose balls grew in nice and plump!" His expression hardened, more so sinisterly than hatefully, and he grabbed Antithesis's shirt collar to pull him close. "Baby, I can cast your supple ass out into the streets with nothing more than a bed sheet and a condom if I truly wanted. I coulda let that motherfucker rip out your organs and destroy your innards if I truly wanted. But nah. I'm keeping you with me because I feel some _severe_ aches in my loins when I see that body workin' out in my living room. You intrigue me, Antithesis, far more than anyone else ever has. You're under the wing and in the bed of one of the most powerful people on this island. Compromise that, you compromise your life. Am I understood?"

Antithesis still glared down at him, but he was shaken a bit by his words. He wasn't going to stay with Tyrant forever—no part of him desired that. However, he did need to stay long enough to gain some independence.

"Yeah, I get it." He threw his arm around Tyrant's waist and pinned him against his body. "When we get home, I'm gonna destroy _your_ innards. Am I understood?"

Tyrant bit his lower lip through a smirk. "Mmm, just take me now if you're gonna be that tempting."

"Nah, I'll wait. You said you liked being teased, didn't you?"

Tyrant sighed with a small smile. "I knew you were special."


	13. Chapter 13

The springs in the bed breathed a sigh of relief as Tyrant collapsed onto the mattress. He lay in a more evolved version of a mess, with his hair all tangled and skin drenched in sweat. His arms were positioned limply over his head, and his previously spread legs fell in a bit. Semen and saliva covered his abdomen and crotch.

Similarly naked, Antithesis stood on his knees with a heaving chest and sweat dripping from his forehead. He was still plugged into Tyrant's ass, despite having released a few minutes prior. Had he pulled out, he'd just collapse backward. By no means was he that weak, however, even if they'd just had sex for three and a half hours straight. Or, rather, gay.

"You good?" Antithesis panted.

He tried to shrug, but it just came off as a twitch. "Still...throbbing…"

"Can I pull out?"

"Don't fuckin' care…"

Had he not been exhausted, Antithesis would've rolled his eyes. Instead he just withdrew from Tyrant's ass and fell on his back beside him.

They remained that way for a few minutes, but their breathy silence was broken by Tyrant rolling onto his stomach and partially onto Antithesis. At this point, he didn't care, instead throwing an arm around Tyrant and resting his head atop the tangled hair.

"So loving…" Tyrant mumbled.

"Shut up and go to sleep," Antithesis hissed back.

"So salty. Why for?"

"I'm tired, of you and physically."

Tyrant scoffed. "Fine…" He let out a sigh and nestled a little closer. "You're wonderful in bed."

"I know. Shut up already."

Tyrant lifted his head to frown at Antithesis. "You're so pissy."

"I'm just tired. You are too. Go to bed."

He sighed. "Fine…"

So they slept, and when Antithesis awoke some hours later, Tyrant had all but disappeared. The previously semen-covered sheet was replaced by a clean one, and some clean clothes lay on the floor.

 _How considerate_ , Antithesis thought. In all honesty, he was rather considerate for doing that, but he had just left Antithesis alone for a few days with nothing to do but lounge and seethe.

So like normal, just without external irritation or sex.

He didn't know how long he'd slept for, but it had to have been at least five hours, since he felt relatively exhaustion-free. He had to wonder how Tyrant had managed to drag himself out early. After all, Antithesis had pretty much ripped him apart for three hours straight. Then again, Tyrant was probably numb to the pain at this point. Could rectums grow callouses? If so, Tyrant's must've been rougher than pavement.

With a soft groan, Antithesis sat up and rubbed his eyes. A few days alone with no Tyrant or access to the rest of the world. What to do, what to do…

A thump sounded from outside the bedroom.

Antithesis looked to the side. So he hadn't left yet. Wonderful. Undoubtedly he'd dropped something, or perhaps he'd fallen himself. Groaning again, Antithesis dragged himself out of bed and into his new clothes. Luckily they weren't anything too extreme or too tight, so he could slip them on and move in them easily.

When he reached the living area, Antithesis stopped in his tracks. He blinked once and stared into the kitchen area. Standing behind the counter, a ceramic mug in one hand and a coffee pot in the other, was Ulterior.

He smiled pleasantly at Antithesis. "You're finally up."

"The fuck are you doing?" Antithesis asked.

"Making coffee," he replied.

"No, what're you doing _here_?"

Ulterior looked around. "Making coffee."

"You know what I mean."

"Mmm, I don't think I do. You need to elucidate a smidge." He raised his eyebrows once before sipping his drink.

Antithesis rolled his eyes. "Are all of Tyrant's associates like him?"

Ulterior scoffed. "You act like he has any others."

"He doesn't."

"Nope." He stepped out from behind the counter and made his way slowly toward Antithesis. "Tyrant's a little...off-putting. For many reasons. Aside from me and, I guess, you, he has no one else he's that close with."

Antithesis was nowhere near surprised. "Why're you here?"

"Ah, right, I guess I never revealed that." He smiled once more. "Just to keep you company while Tyrant was gone."

"He asked you to stay with me?"

"No, I came in after he left." He pulled out a key from his pocket. "Made a copy a few months ago in case I'd ever need to show up."

"And he didn't attack you?"

"Doesn't know I have it." He winked and slipped it back into his pocket. "Didn't see me come in, either. I hid around back, and once he'd left, I snuck in."

"To keep me company."

"Mmm-hmm. And to check to see if he's still clean."

"Clean? He's not a child."

"Nah, not that kind of clean." He made to say something, then paused and said instead, "You really don't know anything about him, do you?"

The disbelief in his tone was relatively unnerving, as well as a little insulting, but nevertheless, Antithesis shook his head. "He hasn't told me much about him, no."

"Ah, I see. Well, I suppose that's for the better." He sipped from his cup.

"You know a lot about him, right?"

Ulterior shrugged. "I've been around."

"So if I was to mention the name 'Royal,' you could tell me something about it?"

Ulterior stared at him. Not playfully, however, but in an annoyed way. "So he let that slip."

"No, a Crawler did. We went on the underground rails earlier."

"Oh, makes more sense. Tyrant wouldn't open up about that so easily." He crossed over to one of the couches and seated himself. "You'll want to join me. This'll get a little in-depth."

Nodding, Antithesis seated himself across from Ulterior.

"Tyrant probably told you that his first name was generically Aesthetic. This is true, but not completely. It's his first Northern name, but he had one before that. As you probably could've guessed, it was Royal." He set his cup down. "Tyrant's family was—is very...respectable. Safe. That sort of thing. Naturally, a comfortably bisexual nineteen-year-old would be bored and rebellious with it. So about that age, he left and started dabbling in nightlife. Drank, smoked, danced, fucked—that shit. Anyway, one night, he got wasted as shit in a club and sang. I happened to be there at the time, and I was expecting a good laugh out of a drunken asshole's performance. What I got, though, was nothing short of amazing."

"Tyrant can sing?"

"He won't, but he can. Very well, in fact. Though his drunken self had more of a screechy, rocker quality to it. Had the whole place jumping. Anyway, I went up to him and asked if he wanted to join a little group that I'd been involved in. I can sing decently, but he really had the extra kick that we needed. Being drunk, he agreed. So we started doing performances, and quickly we became a hit among nightclubs. As one does when one is a musician, Tyrant got involved in drugs. In particular, he took Angel Tears."

"Angel Tears?"

"Ah, right, you're from West originally. Angel Tears was a drug originally intended to make super soldiers in the army. After it failed, it trickled onto the streets, and people got hooked really easily. Basically, it gives users a lot of energy and very little recognition of danger. Anyway, one night Tyrant took it before a performance, and he gave the most intense, energetic one he'd ever given before. People loved it. Thus, Royal was born. He was Tyrant's stage persona, named because at the time Tyrant had royal blue hair and often performed in kingly attire. Actually…" He reached into his pocket and withdrew a sleek phone. "Gimme a minute." He tapped the screen a few times, then smirked to himself and turned it so Antithesis could see. "This was one of the most popular songs that we performed. It also displays how intense Royal could get." He tapped the triangle in the middle of the screen to play the video.

The music was harsh and rhythmic, with intense guitar and drums. On a stage—clearly the video had been recorded by an onlooker—stood a twenty-something that could only be Tyrant. As Ulterior had said, his hair was a vibrant blue, and the right side of his head was shaved. Intense makeup surrounded his eyes, which were occupied by crimson contacts. He wore nothing on his torso, save for a leather shoulder piece from which a purple cape extended. Tight black pants covered his legs, and heeled boots covered his feet. His gloved hands grabbed the microphone, and from his mouth spewed intense lyrics that matched the music's intensity.

 _Like the legend of the phoenix,_

 _All ends with beginnings_

 _What keeps the planet spinning_

 _The force from the beginning_

Something between rage and passion burned in his eyes, and as the song progressed, his gestures became more wild. The song was blatantly about sex, and as he traveled about the stage, he danced provocatively. At one point, he went up beside a member with medium-length gingery hair and a feathered outfit.

"That's you?"

"Mmm-hmm," Ulterior affirmed. "We did this sort of thing all the time. People started shipping us, so we'd make out and grind on each other at times. Fun times, but it was exhausting too."

A few seconds later the song ended, and it ended with Royal and Ulterior locked in a passionate kiss.

"Shit, he is good."

"I know. He won't sing now, though, and he won't do anything slow, either." He slid the phone away. "Anyway, he remained a performer for about...a year and a half. His drug problem worsened, but not to the point where it was extremely detrimental. Eventually three things ended Royal's career, though. First up, he got scares of a few STD's. This is when his whoring about was bad—even worse than now. At times he'd fuck about five people a day. His record was twenty-five in about twelve hours. Didn't choose his partners that well most times, either. Dirty street whores were common. Second, he got caught shooting up with Angel Tears by his younger sister and was shamed into quitting."

"He has a sister?"

"Not the focus," Ulterior said. "Anyway, the third thing was kinda twofold. It ended his singing and sent him here. Royal grinded on a couple of authorities and showed his dick while he was performing in West, and they sent him to prison. Well, being all spindly and shit, Tyrant managed to escape. After picking me up along the way as a potential bullet shield, he ran off to North. We had to live amongst the Crawlers for a few days to avoid detection, which led to our relations with them. After it was clear, he started developing interests in style, became Aesthetic, and eventually evolved into the sex-crazed piece of shit that we know and tolerate."

Antithesis sank back in his seat a bit. Tyrant was a lot more dimensional than he'd originally expected. Suddenly he felt flat and boring, though he'd lived a wild life prior to North too. Knowing Tyrant however little he did, however, he was probably hiding a lot more than Ulterior had revealed.

"And you? What was your belief on his drug use? Did you try to stop him?"

Ulterior smirked briefly. "Well, if I told you that I was against it, I'd be lying. No, I did try to stop him, but only when it would directly affect me. So, for example, if he wanted to shoot up in a public bathroom with a bunch of authorities nearby, I would gently advise him to do so elsewhere. Perhaps tone down his antics if he was in a more respectable establishment. Did I try to stop his drug usage completely? Nah, not really. They were gaining us popularity and profit, two things that I would've liked to keep flowing. If that meant that drugs had to flow through his veins, so be it."

"What if he would've been killed by the drugs?"

He snickered at that. "You really are from the good parts. Angel Tears is an interesting drug. It has very few downsides, and virtually no destructive side effects. The only major dangers lie with using it, since it's known to promote recklessness and numb pain. Even if Tyrant used it daily for ten years, the only damages he would sustain would be products of his own doing."

Antithesis's eyes narrowed. He saw why Ulterior had done what he'd done, but leaving Tyrant in such a dangerous position...for some reason it didn't sit right with him. He didn't particularly care about Tyrant's health, but he did recognize the cruelty of Ulterior's actions. Perhaps Tyrant was right—Ulterior was a bastard.

"You don't like me anymore, do you?" Ulterior asked.

"I never said I liked you prior to this."

"Ooh, feisty, we are." He smirked. "Regardless, Tyrant managed to get out of everything relatively fine. He's adapted well in North, even managing to control a district. Plus, he's far happier here than he could ever be in West. If anything, me letting his drug 'problem' go on was a good thing."

"And yet you came here making sure that he was clean?"

"Oh, of course. I do worry a little bit for him. Drug problems up here are common, but since he's a district leader, it makes him especially vulnerable. I wouldn't want one of my trade networks to get shot in the face, would I?" He smiled innocently and sipped his drink.

"And you found what?"

"Oh, he's definitely clean. Though sometimes it's hard to tell. Angel Tears make his little rampages now seem tame. I was somewhat concerned whenever he saw me in his palace earlier. Usually he tries to strangle me, not beat me with a chair. He was probably just putting on a show for you."

"Or he just hates you."

"Why would he hate someone that saved his life? He's not suicidal. To my knowledge, anyway." He leaned back in his seat. "Tell me something, Antithesis. Do you care about Tyrant?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Somewhat."

"Do tell."

"He's been showing me how to survive here, and I haven't been here long, so I'd prefer to keep learning. Once I'm a little more integrated with this place, I plan on ditching him. I don't care what happens after that."

"Mmm. Just making sure."

"Why? Does it seem like I'm attached to him?"

"No, but others have been. Occasionally he fucks people and they like to cling to him. Then he throws them out, and they get all resentful or brokenhearted."

"Ah. I have no concerns about being brokenhearted. The only thing he'll break is my patience. But I'll return the favor by breaking his ass."

Ulterior chuckled. "I love you so much. I can see why Tyrant does, too. You're definitely the most interesting companion he's brought here."

"I'm flattered."

"Such a shame, though," Ulterior continued. "You're so emotionless that it isn't fun to watch your reactions. Ah, well. You'll unravel a little in one way or another."

Perhaps it was a good thing that he was emotionless; his last few words shook Antithesis a little more than he would've liked.


	14. Chapter 14

Following that mildly unsettling conversation, Ulterior disappeared and didn't reappear at all. For the most part, Antithesis just explored Tyrant's place. He discovered a few more hidden stashes of weapons, in particular an entire alcove full of loose blades, whether new or badly rusted. He'd most likely garnered those from his various trips to Scrapyards. Despite the relative openness of his home, Tyrant was a low-key hoarder of weaponry and clothing.

For awhile he'd wondered where he kept his wardrobe, but after traveling down to his studio, his wondering was no more. A button occupied the left wall, and after pushing it, a section of that wall lifted off and slid to the side. Within were two racks of clothes, one on either side, and a little aisleway between. The racks went back at least two yards, and Antithesis believed the bins on shelves above the racks just held more clothing. Maybe shoes. He feared that moving the boxes would incite all kinds of rage from Tyrant when he returned, so he left them as they were.

Low-key hoarding aside, Tyrant was definitely creative with his storage. Had all his hidden things been out in the open, the place would've looked just as shitty on the inside as it did the outside.

After about two days, the door swung open, and Tyrant walked in. His appearance was more subdued than when he'd left, and his outfit was almost appropriate for a man to wear. His clothes were still somewhat tight, but his all-black raiment was basic, even dull. His lavender hair was contained in a single braid, his bangs framing his face flatly. His face appeared bare—or, at least, more bare than it usually was. If he had any makeup on, it was subdued. Whether it was eyeshadow or not, he didn't know, but his eyes looked tired and even somewhat vulnerable. What was wrong with him? Undoubtedly it was a product of his trip. Was he just tired from the journey? Or was it something else entirely?

Antithesis had been hanging from the rope lift that connected the ground floor to the five turrets, dressed a similarly lackadaisical way. He'd tied his hair away from his face, lacked a shirt, and wore the prison uniform pants he'd arrived in.

Tyrant stared at him, his somewhat dead eyes filling with relative interest. "The hell is this?"

"Upside-down sit-ups."

"You're not in prison anymore. You can do more than just exercise mindlessly."

"I don't know what else to do. I can't get off the island, after all."

Tyrant rolled his eyes. "I trust you weren't that bored?"

"No, not really."

Tyrant looked to the left, then right, then onto the floor. His eyes narrowed, and he strode toward the seating area. He bent over, and when he rose again, a black feather rested between his fingertips. "You let Ulmo in here?" he asked.

"He came in after you left," Antithesis replied. "I was still asleep, and by the time I woke up, he was here. He stayed to talk for a little, but he left after about an hour." Antithesis resumed his sit-ups. "I never would've expected you to be able to sing."

He went rigid at that. "What?" he breathed.

"He told me about Royal."

Tyrant gritted his teeth and fisted his hands. "Why?"

"I asked."

" _Why_?"

"Because you didn't tell me, and I wanted to know. Isn't that how that shit works?"

Though still visible in his eyes, rage dissipated from his body. "I hate you. But I suppose that's true. So he told you about the Tears, too?"

"Yeah. He came here to see if you were still clean."

He rolled his eyes. "He probably just came to drink my tea."

"Coffee."

" _Bitch!_ That shit's imported!"

"The fuck was I supposed to know?"

"Never mind that. What'd you think of his story?"

"Well, you're right about him being a bastard."

He clapped once. "Good bitch, you are!"

Now it was Antithesis who rolled his eyes. So there wasn't anything wrong with him, after all. Either that or he was hiding it. Regardless, Tyrant was just as annoying as he'd been when he'd left.

"You try to get me to sing and I cut you," Tyrant hissed.

"I know, I know. He told me you don't do it anymore. Anyway, he said that he came here to check if you were still clean."

Another eye roll. "Nah, he came to steal my shit. I've been off Tears for five years now."

"Curiosity," Antithesis said.

"Regarding?"

"Drugs up here. He said they were common. That true?"

"Fuck, yeah. You know Medix? Half the medicinals that go through there are illegal. At least, in the rest of Dyamondix. So, yeah, there's tobacco and alcohol and weed and crack and all kinds of other shit up here. But since it's regulated, Medix gets profits from every drug transaction, legal or illegal. About thirty percent flat, I believe."

"Ulterior's doing?"

"Yeah. He does lead Medix, after all." He paused for a moment, then said, "Yo, come down 'ere. I, ah...got a favor I need from you."

Intrigued, Antithesis dropped down from the lift and stepped toward him. "What do you want?"

Tyrant grasped Antithesis's wrists and looked into his eyes. "I need you to put your fingers in my ass."

* * *

"You good?" Antithesis asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Tyrant replied through a soft moan. With the hot shower water raining down from above, it was difficult to hear him. Steam filled the shower, adding to the heat already on his skin.

Antithesis moved his fingers around a bit, each little movement eliciting tiny whimpers from Tyrant. "Here?"

"N-No...deeper…"

So Antithesis dug into him a little more, feeling Tyrant's insides flex and clench with him. More moans poured from his mouth, louder and longer than before. "Almost...just a little more…!"

Even deeper he went, stepping a bit closer to Tyrant, who was nearly completely bent over with his elbows bracing him against the tiled wall. Antithesis brushed over something, and he pushed on it while asking, "Here?"

Tyrant gasped. "Yes…! There…!"

Nodding once, Antithesis slipped another finger and placed both on either ends of the spot. Slowly he pulled, each centimeter of movement adding new moans to the little space.

"It's almost there…" Tyrant panted.

"You have to help me," Antithesis said.

"I'm trying!" he gasped.

In all honesty, he was. His ass was clenching and flexing, but sometimes that just hindered Antithesis instead of helping him. Despite that, a few moments of pulling later, Antithesis withdrew from his ass. Tyrant breathed a sigh of relief, panting none too softly and letting himself go somewhat limp against the wall.

"Finally," Tyrant sighed. "I'm so happy it's out…"

"What is this?" Antithesis asked, examining what he'd pulled out. It was a small white bottle with the letters VP on the cap. When he shook it, various little objects moved inside.

"You know how I went places?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I made a little stop in Medix before coming home to get some things. And, ah, they were a little more than hostile toward me, so…" He popped his lips and motioned his fingers upward. "Up the poop chute it went."

"Pills?"

"Yeah. Various pills, for specifics. Hair growth, energy, painkillers—couple others too."

"Ah, all right." Antithesis tossed the bottle over the top of the shower.

"Ey, don't throw my shit!"

"You didn't say not to."

With a sigh, Tyrant stood upright. "Yeah, you're right." He turned around and looked up at Antithesis, his features relatively innocent. He cupped his face, then pulled him down for a kiss. Now, Antithesis was dead emotionally, but his dick was _far_ from out of business. Though the silence had been nice, he did experience a tad of withdrawal. Perhaps steamy shower sex wouldn't be so bad…

A louder stream of liquid thudded against the floor, and Antithesis looked down to view a golden shower all over his feet. He pulled back with a groan, and Tyrant snickered.

"Missed me, didn't you?"

"Fuck you," Antithesis spat.

He sighed with a chuckle. "Sorry, babe. I missed you too. Just not in the mood for sexy times right now, ya feel?"

"For once, yeah."

Tyrant nodded. "While we're in here, may as well shower. I'll dye your hair again after we're done in here."

"Decided on a color?"

"Nope. Is up to you this time. What're you thinking?" He grabbed some shampoo from the wall and squirted it into his hand. "Green? Purple?"

"Why not back to my original color?" He scooped up a bit of the goo from Tyrant and scrubbed it into his own hair.

"Nah, that's boring." He started running it through his scalp. "I refuse to be seen with someone who looks bland."

He sighed. "Why not red?"

"Mmm, not feeling red."

"Dark red?"

Tyrant stared at him, his head tilted to the side. "Eh, fuck it. Not as exciting as I'd like, but that'll do for now. Hopefully I can open up your creativity along with your emotions."

"Doubtful of both," Antithesis mumbled. "Where'd you go, anyway?"

"You know that like eighty-percent of all words from your lovely lips are questions?" He stood more directly under the water to rinse out the bubbles. "Pisses me off lots of times. I know you're still learning here, but _fuck_ , Antithesis."

"Tyrant," he said. "Tell me where you went."

"Ooh, there's a command. Well, I ventured off the island." Conditioner soon nourished the length of his hair.

"I know."

"No, not just _this_ island. The entire island. I left North. Visited a few associates in East."

"You're lying."

"Oh?" His eyebrows rose, but his entire expression said, "Keep going."

"You went to West, didn't you?"

"Mmm, proof?"

"Your scent when you got home was far different than when you left. You wear perfume, right?"

"Mmm-hmm. I like vanilla. I always wear it."

"Yeah, but that was a different kind of vanilla. Vanilla Adoration. A past boyfriend wore that shit all the time."

Tyrant chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah?"

"Why were you in West?"

"I'm not telling you," he said in a sing-song voice. "But I will tell you that I was meeting with people."

"Who?"

"People."

"What kind?"

"The living kind."

Antithesis narrowed his eyes and pinned him against the wall. Tyrant didn't struggle nor seem fazed in the slightest. He just smirked.

"What do you plan on doing to me, eh?" Tyrant questioned. Arrogance laced his tone. "No. Lemme rephrase: what _can_ you do to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. What can you do to me?"

Antithesis just stared. He knew where Tyrant was going, but he had no legitimate reply. What _could_ he do?

Tyrant sighed. "Well, lemme give you a few options. Most obvious one would be physical assault, whether through beating my ass or ripping my ass apart. If you go with beating, you can probably win. Physically, you're far stronger than I am. But I'm more skilled with weapons, and I have weapons hidden _everywhere_. If I get away for even a moment—which you know I will—your ass is injured _far_ more than mine. And then we go to ripping. Well, no matter how rough you go, it won't break me. I love it when you're rough, baby. For me, rape from you would be _lovely_."

He snickered a little. "Ooh, and then there's murder. You could kill me for being noncompliant, but I wouldn't be able to tell you anything. Plus, that wouldn't benefit you at all. I'm your best shot at survival here. Without me, who do you have? Ulterior?" He scoffed. "He'll sell your body and its parts if it can make him profit." He cupped Antithesis's chin and moved his face closer so their foreheads touched. "So what can you do to me? _Jack shit_."

Tyrant spit in his face, and Antithesis pinched his eyes shut. When he put it that way, Antithesis did seem rather powerless. He had solid justifications behind each of his reasonings, and the more Antithesis thought of it, the more unreasonable that violence against him seemed. He opened his eyes to lock them with Tyrant's glinting ones.

No matter how arrogant, impulsive, and destructive he was, Antithesis couldn't help but find him extremely tantalizing. Antithesis had always thought himself a hunter, dominant and powerful. But Tyrant...he took it like prey, but he worked like predator. The more Antithesis attacked, the more Tyrant danced away and attacked in his own way. But that didn't matter. No, not at all. In fact, it made the challenge all the sweeter.

He leaned down and captured Tyrant's lips in a passionate kiss. For the first time in a long time, Antithesis didn't see sex as an obligation or inconvenience. No, this was _desirable._ Exciting. Even...no, it wasn't fun yet. Not until he could bend Tyrant to his will. Getting a name like "Emperor" or "Puppetmaster" did seem intriguing…

Tyrant broke the kiss gently and tilted his head to the side, allowing Antithesis to play with his neck. He nibbled and licked, leaving red spots and bite marks on his skin. Little moans trickled out from Tyrant's mouth, and his head tilted back. His hands drifted to Antithesis's shoulders, and his legs drifted apart a bit to accommodate Antithesis's hardening member.

"You wanna move?" Antithesis murmured.

"Hmm?"

"Move locations. I could drop you in here."

"Mmm...all right…"

"Good. But first…" Antithesis grabbed either of Tyrant's thighs to spread them apart, then rammed into Tyrant's hole in one thrust. Tyrant threw his head back and released a loud moan. Seemingly experienced, he wrapped his legs around Antithesis's waist and clung to him. Antithesis kissed him deeply, assaulting his mouth as he exited the shower. Tyrant's bathroom was more like a spa, so naturally he had a massage table in there. Never once breaking the kiss, Antithesis laid him on his back and pinned his wrists to the table. Tyrant didn't struggle in the slightest, instead just arching his back and moaning into his mouth.

He didn't hesitate with thrusts; he plunged and pierced with all of his might, each impact sending a shockwave of pleasure into him. This dominance was what he lived for. This was what fueled him. _This_ was what would propel him forward.

Tyrant's body spasmed, and his member shot liquid onto Antithesis's abdomen. Antithesis popped within him moments later, and Tyrant broke the kiss to scream his name. Antithesis stared down at him as he panted, the thrill of dominance filling him. This was one area where Tyrant couldn't beat him. Not unless Antithesis was tied up, anyway.

After cleaning himself—Tyrant could fend for himself—Antithesis slipped his prison pants back on and made to leave.

"Oi," Tyrant said.

Antithesis looked over his shoulder to see Tyrant still laying on his back. "What?"

Tyrant lifted his arm and motioned Antithesis forward. He went over, but Tyrant remained in the same position.

"What?" Antithesis repeated.

Not even bothering to open his eyes, Tyrant motioned to the left. "Cabinet...grab me a bottle."

Antithesis looked over to see a tall cabinet against the wall, and he went over to open it up. Within were many spa amenities—towels, lotions, oils—but on the bottom shelf was a row of small purple bottles. Antithesis retrieved one and brought it to Tyrant, who finally decided to sit up. He popped the cork off the top, then gulped down the liquid inside easily. With a sigh he set it down.

"I got a question for you," Tyrant said. His voice was a tad raspy, and Antithesis didn't know if that was from the sex or the nature of his question.

Antithesis stood at the edge of the massage table, his hand resting on the top.

Tyrant cleared his throat, then asked, "How comfortable are you up here...culturally?"

"What do you mean?"

"You think you can talk as strongly as you walk?"

Antithesis shrugged. "I haven't had to talk much."

"Mmm, I guess you're right. I'll go with you, then."

"On?"

"A little meeting between the heads of each district of North. I _really_ don't wanna go, but I can't leave you there alone to ruin me. I'm already gonna get yelled at. Basically, we're discussing district relations. Particularly mine."

"Oh, I wonder why."

He chuckled. "Many do. Anyway, you'll get to see the heads of this place. You've already met two. Wonder how the others will react to you."

Antithesis did, too.


	15. Chapter 15

Utilizing the Crawlers once again, Tyrant and Antithesis traveled to an area in the center of North known as Neutrality. Neutrality was a tiny place, with only about one city block comprising it. However, this city block held a mammoth meeting hall, where they would be meeting with the other district heads. Its name reflected its nature, as it was the one spot where absolutely no conflict was allowed in North. That said a lot, considering that North was a land built on conflict.

Tyrant had taken no less than two hours to get ready. For this occasion, he'd dyed his hair bright blue—the same color as it had been whenever he was Royal—and shaved the right side of his head. His makeup was heavy, but it didn't seem completely excessive. Black eyeshadow covered his citrine orbs, and three small but pointed lines extended from the bottom corner of his eyes. Never before seen piercings on his face were filled, one on either side of his bottom lip, one on his right eyebrow, and faux-gauges in his ears. Surprisingly, his outfit wasn't gravely feminine. In fact, it radiated power. His coat was in a military style and stretched to his knees; a pair of pleather pants covered his legs, held up by a silver stud belt; his boots had a four-inch platform, making him about as tall as Antithesis, and laced to his kneecaps. He carried a walking stick with a silver skull atop it, a sign of "don't fuck with me."

Against his will, Antithesis had also been dressed up for the occasion. Tyrant had finally gotten around to dying his hair, and when he was finished, it was more of a maroon color than a red. Nevertheless, it was better than the faded quartet that had occupied his strands before. One of his black outfits covered him, a raiment full of leather. Nothing was particularly tight, but his studded boots, spiked choker, and chain-heavy jacket radiated intimidation. He lacked a walking stick, but he still felt that he could fuck a bitch up if needed.

"So who are the leaders, anyway?" Antithesis asked as they traveled down the road.

"A bunch of bastards, myself included."

"More specifically? Names, personalities…?"

"Ah, fine. Well, there's me, who you know to be fine as hell. And then there's Ulmo, who you know to be a douchebag. Then there's Spirits, Rust, and Depth. Spirits is the head of the Lacks District. He's a mixologist—a master of the alcoholic, hence his name. Raging fag, so you'll get along with him well. Kind of...sparkly with his aesthetic. Ginger, too. Afraid of me. Rust is the head of Scrapyards, and his name's obvious. Scratchy old man. Talks like he has something stuck in his throat. Hates me. Depth is the head of Pits, and he's the head of the Roudsmen and leader of the Turnir Rounds. Intimidating motherfucker, he is. A few inches taller than you, really burly, got a beard that could house dead animals—wears no sleeves on his shirts ever. Hates me more than _anyone_. The reason I dyed my hair this color." He winked at Antithesis.

They came upon the meeting hall within five minutes. It somewhat resembled Tyrant's palace, though twice as tall and half as wide. Unlike most of North, this building wasn't a complete piece of shit. Two guards clad in black uniforms stood at the front of the double doors. They let Tyrant through with no qualms, but both pointed guns at Antithesis's forehead.

"Let him through," Tyrant said. "He's with me."

With visible hesitance, they lowered their weapons and allowed Antithesis passage. Up an elevator they went, until the duo reached the top floor. Down a relatively barren hallway they went, and at the end they stopped before a large door.

"Say nothing unless spoken to first," Tyrant told him.

Antithesis nodded.

Tyrant pushed open the door, and instantly Antithesis's eyes widened.

A man around his age with gingery hair and blue eyes stared at him with a similar expression. His black outfit was bedazzled with rhinestones and sparkle, and feathers plumed about the neckline of his jacket. A stark contrast from the prison attire Antithesis had last viewed him in.

"Hiro— _you're_ Spirits?"

The ginger—the one named Hiroto that he'd befriended in prison—seemed to struggle for a response.

"You know each other?" It was Ulterior who spoke this in an intrigued voice. He was clad in his trademark business attire, but his equally trademark feathers lined his clothing. His head rested on his fisted hand, and a smirk crossed his features. "Do tell."

Before Antithesis could reply, a rougher, older voice spoke. "Can't you keep your mouth shut for even a moment?" He had graying hair and was well into his fifties, and his clothing was covered in patches and dust.

"I'm just curious about our friend Spirits here." Ulterior looked to the ginger. "Or, should I say, Hiro?"

Spirits looked to the side, a light blush forming on his cheeks.

"Quiet, both of you," a deep, powerful voice spoke. With oil-black hair, bulging muscles, and no sleeves, this could only be Depth. He looked as if he was ready to bash Ulterior's head into the table—undoubtedly he could, and without much effort, either.

Depth turned his coal-black eyes not to Antithesis, but to Tyrant. "You're late."

"And you're ugly," Tyrant replied sourly. "So shameful that nothing's changed."

Depth scowled at him. "I see your hair's changed."

"You like?" Tyrant asked with a smirk. "I figured that I couldn't come to a meeting of the leaders without being _royal_ in appearance." With a lovingly bitter smile, Tyrant seated himself next to Ulterior. With no chairs left, Antithesis stood behind Tyrant like a bulwark. "I was getting it dyed just for you, darling. That's why I'm a little late. How's your harem of guards doing, dickhole?"

"Picking up the garbage that you produce. How's your popularity, shit stain?"

"Forever higher than your competence."

"You piece of shit."

"Calm yourselves," Rust snapped. "Take your bickering outside of Neutrality's boundaries. There's no place for it here. This meeting must begin _now_ or it may never begin at all."

Depth still scowled, but Tyrant just leaned back in his seat with crossed arms and a sharp grin.

"Now that you're quiet, why don't we take care of the biggest immediate issue." Rust pointed one of his dirty fingers at Antithesis. "Who is that?"

Antithesis opened his mouth to reply, but Tyrant spoke first, " _That_ is named Antithesis. He's my bitch."

"So you just drag your sex toys to meetings now?" Depth spat.

"He may be my bitch, but he managed to escape the Tombs. Not only that, but I find him pretty, so he's really nice to show off. Plus, he seems to have a little knowledge of little Spirits here. Perhaps that can be of value."

Though skepticism remained in his eyes, Depth leaned back. "All right."

Tyrant smirked and winked up at Antithesis.

"Shall we take care of the second issue?" Ulterior asked. "I'm very curious as to his relationship with Spirits. Do tell, Antithesis."

He glanced down at Tyrant, who nodded once. Antithesis faced the table as a whole and said, "I was in prison for awhile, and we befriended each other. I was taken up here before he left, though."

"And what was it you were calling him? Hiro…?"

"Ulterior," Spirits said.

He flashed a smile at him. "My apologies. Why don't you tell us about your relations?"

Spirits flinched, then stuttered, "Ah...well...as he said, we befriended each other in prison. That's all. He was taken to the Tombs before I was released."

"Oh, that's all? How dull. I thought there'd be some grand lovemaking session mixed in there."

Spirits looked away and blushed. "Well, it wasn't as if I hadn't been interested…"

Antithesis stared at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Spirits said. "Anyway, what is it that you all wanted to discuss?"

"Him," Depth said, pointing to Tyrant. "Particularly his thievery."

"Thievery? I have no idea what you're talking about." Based on his tone, though, Tyrant knew _exactly_ what he was talking about.

"Explain the shortage in the shipment of my drugs, then," Depth replied.

"I can't. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm missing a bottle of mixed pills that were to be given to one of my prized fighters to keep him healthy, but when the shipment came in, that specific bottle was missing."

"Isn't that something you should take up with Ulmo?" he asked. "After all, he runs Medix. If medications go missing, it's his fault, not mine. We're on complete opposite sides of the island. Besides, how do you know it's me? It could've been anyone who took those drugs."

Depth turned his gaze to Ulterior. "You have a bandit issue?"

"Nope. Everyone's too scared to steal from me after...well, you know after what." He looked to Tyrant and smiled. "Looks like he's cornered you, Tyrant."

"Well, not just yet. Prized fighter, hmm? Pray tell, isn't it illegal to take supplements in the Turnir Rounds? Isn't that something you've executed people for doing? Or was it that they did it without you knowing that led to the execution?" Tyrant rose his eyebrows briefly and chuckled softly.

Depth narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. "What I do in my district is my business. It doesn't become a concern until it affects the other districts directly. You stealing affects my district, so therefore it's an issue."

"Can't prove I'm stealing."

"That may be true, but I can prove that you've committed many injustices against me and other districts."

"Oh, really? Go ahead, then." He leaned back in his chair. "Impress me."

He nodded. "All right. Two years ago you forcefully took land from Lacks in order to open more businesses that would've profited you directly. Four years ago you staged a riot in Medix in order to steal marijuana from a shop. And then, of course, there's the Conquered List."

The entire room went a little uneasy at that, but Tyrant simply continued smirking. "Where are the injustices? All I hear are accomplishments."

"You don't think taking the lives of leaders of districts is an injustice?"

He shrugged. "They were threats, not just to me but in general. Half of them wanted to kill me, and the other half had tried to kill me. I just wanted to keep myself safe."

"At the expense of so many others."

"Oi, Depth, I got a question for you. Ever heard the phrase 'don't bite the hand that feeds you?' 'Cuz that's what you're doing."

"How so?"

"How'd you come into power of Pits, eh?"

"I succeeded the last leader."

"And what happened to the last leader?"

"He was killed."

"By…?"

He hesitated for a moment. "You."

"Mmm-hmm. So without me, you wouldn't even be here."

"I didn't ask for this position. Our previous leader was doing a fine job."

"So you're incompetent?"

"You're volatile and a threat," Depth hissed.

"A threat to what? Progress? Honey, I've been able to triple the production rate and income of Aethan, and thanks to me, Ulmo has gotten an immense amount of new trade opportunities. Killing or imprisoning me would just hurt everyone. You included. You get most of your fighters by picking up the garbage, as you worded it. Well, you get a lot of your fighters from my district. Without me, that doesn't happen. Without me, Ulmo isn't nearly as successful in trade, which hurts everyone. I'm a far bigger asset than I am a hindrance. Admit it."

His eyes narrowed, Depth rose from the table. He reached into his coat, and Antithesis caught sight of a gun.

"Tyrant—"

In a flash, Tyrant threw off his coat to cloak himself, and when the garment fell completely, he held a mace-dagger hybrid in his hands. He threw the spiked ball so it wrapped around Depth's neck, effectively disabling him. Tyrant kept his grip firm, thus preventing Depth from releasing himself. He sputtered and gasped, but Tyrant didn't let go. Rust rose from the table to press a handgun against Tyrant's head. He shifted his gaze to the older man, but he didn't seem phased.

"Ooh, looks like everyone's packing. I thought this was supposed to be a peaceful region." Tyrant threw his legs to the side, kicking Rust in the chest and sending him back. Tyrant fell to the floor, and he took Depth with him. Or, rather, he took Depth's head with him. The force snapped his neck, killing him instantly.

Sitting up and then kneeling, Tyrant straddled Rust's hips and pressed a second blade to his neck. "If you don't wanna end up like Depth, I recommend compliance."

Rust stared at him with wide, somewhat fearful eyes. Nevertheless, he nodded once and said, "Sorry. I acted on impulse."

"Yeah, me too. Difference is that my impulse is effective." He rose from Rust and turned to Antithesis. "Gimme my coat."

It was right in front of him, but something told Antithesis that pissing off someone who had just committed murder without much thought was a poor decision. So he rose from his seat and retrieved Tyrant's garment from the table. Rust had risen by the time Antithesis had handed off the coat, but there was malevolent intent in his eyes. He reached out with gun in hand, and Tyrant had his back to him. Something foreign overpowering him, Antithesis grabbed Rust's arm and twisted, effectively snapping it in two. Rust cried out in pain, and Antithesis punched him in the mouth to shut him up. His knee went into Rust's abdomen, and once again he cracked his fist across Rust's face, this time effectively knocking him unconscious. For good measure, once Rust hit the floor, Antithesis kicked his head.

When the adrenaline faded, he turned to Tyrant, who stared back with wide eyes and a half-smile. "Someone's tapping this ass _tonight_!" He let out a high-pitched "whoo!" before stepping forward and kissing Antithesis passionately. "Love you!" he shouted.

Antithesis regarded him a tad more warily than he would've before. He didn't know what the Conquered List was, nor did he know Tyrant's reasoning behind killing, but he knew that Tyrant was not to be taken lightly, no matter how ridiculous he acted. Though his true feelings were nowhere near close to it, warmer emotions toward Tyrant would be best. He didn't feel threatened by Tyrant, but the shit had gone from the toilet to the fan _very_ quickly just now. Plus, he didn't despise Tyrant as much as he had initially...he supposed that this could work.

They seated themselves—Antithesis took Rust's old seat—and Tyrant scooted right beside him.

It was Ulterior who spoke first, as Spirits was too shocked to say a word. "I don't plan on breaking off any ties with you. Don't be concerned. I assure you, there's no reason for me to turn on you."

"I know," Tyrant replied. "But now that they're dealt with, I need to talk with you about something, Ulmo." He glanced at Antithesis. "Privately."

Antithesis met the gaze of Spirits, and the two rose and departed.

Once they were halfway down the hall that led to the meeting room, Antithesis said, "So you're from North? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, I wasn't from there originally. I was, ah...introduced, I guess. I met Ulterior a few months before I was arrested, and I worked for him a little bit until I was imprisoned. That's why my clothes are kinda similar to his."

Come to think, they _did_ both have feathers on. Antithesis stopped in the middle of another hallway, and Spirits leaned next to him.

"How long have you been up here?" he asked.

Antithesis shrugged. "Couple months. Not very long."

"He seems to like you."

He scoffed softly. "Yeah. He seems to like many other people, though."

"Yeah, I heard that he's a bit of a whore."

"More than a bit. But he's really intense when we have sex. I have to admit, he's rather skilled. Best lover I've had in awhile, if you can call us lovers."

"He seems pretty infatuated."

Antithesis shrugged. "Ulterior seems pretty infatuated with him, too."

"No, he's not. That's just his personality. Ulterior's straight."

Antithesis snickered. "Bullshit."

"No, he is. I've...seen." He looked away, then looked back and said, "Anyway, I run a bar in Lacks. If you ever want to come, the place is called Adamsite."

"All right. I'll consider." He paused, then asked, "What'd you mean when you said you thought about having sex with me?"

"Exactly what I said." He gestured to Antithesis. "You're attractive, and you seemed kinda frustrated in prison, and I may have thought that I could cure that frustration with my ass."

Antithesis nodded. He regarded Spirits somewhat warily. "I'll come visit you in Lacks tonight."

Spirits blinked. "So soon?"

"Yeah. I, uh...want to test something."


	16. Chapter 16

"Do you _have_ to go?" Tyrant whined.

Antithesis looked over his shoulder. Tyrant lay on his side, his head propped up on his arm and the sheets covering little more than his groin. He wore a pouty but somewhat seductive look on his face.

"Not necessarily," he said. "But I'd like to. He did make prison a little more bearable, after all."

"Mmm, but Spirits is a pussy…! You're a fag, Antithesis!"

"I know that. But I wanna branch out a little more with my knowledge of the area. I can't stay with you forever."

"Yeah, you can…" He crawled closer to Antithesis, the sheets still bunched around his groin, and hugged him from behind. "I like having you with me, baby." He kissed Antithesis's cheek. "Keeps me going."

"You'll be fine without me," Antithesis assured.

"Antithesis…" he whined. "Please…?"

He sighed and turned his head. "You'll be fine," he murmured. He pressed a kiss, brief and sweet, to Tyrant's lips. Tyrant responded easily, keeping his hold on Antithesis gentle and almost loving. He broke the kiss moments later. "I'll be back by morning. Mind if I take the ski?"

He shook his head. "I don't need to go anywhere."

Antithesis nodded once and kissed Tyrant's cheek, then rose from the bed. "I promise I won't wreck it."

Tyrant sat up and watched him as he dressed. Truth be told, Antithesis wasn't that excited to leave, either, nor was he proud of what he was about to do. Nevertheless, he needed it for his sanity's sake.

Once he was fully clothed, Antithesis snatched the keys to Tyrant's jet ski and left the bedroom. Having sex with him was nothing new, but the sex they'd just had felt...different. Somewhat gentler and more natural. Tyrant's reactions in general had progressed from ridiculously loud and undoubtedly fake to somewhat quiet and admittedly cute. His behavior had tamed, too. He'd become far less sporadic and volatile—at least, in private settings. He acted relatively "normal" around others; he only acted somewhat demure around Antithesis. He wasn't the only one who'd changed, either; nowadays, Antithesis found himself feeling a little more aroused before, during, and after sex with Tyrant. And their sex hadn't gotten much more passionate, either; if anything, it had tamed.

Thus he traveled to Lacks, a trip that took roughly half an hour. He docked the ski and followed the directions Spirits had given him earlier until he reached Adamsite. It was a decent-sized bar, and based on the lack of bright light and blaring music, it wasn't a nightclub. Just a bar. And, for tonight, a testing ground.

Antithesis stepped through the door and scanned the space. It was open, with a few tables scattered about before a main bar. Naturally, men filled the area, though occasionally Antithesis saw what he believed to be women among groups. Oh, women. They drifted around fags like flies about honey, and they acted as if they had a chance.

A man with thick, dark hair and dark blue attire slid up beside him. Clearly a bottom, he stood a few inches shorter than Antithesis and wore a little smirk.

"You look a little lost," he said in a sweet, mellifluous voice.

"I'm looking for someone," Antithesis replied.

"Oh? What a coincidence! I am, too." His smirk widened. "Although...I believe that I've just found who I was looking for…" He bit his lower lip and moved a bit closer.

Antithesis grasped his hand as it drifted toward his crotch. "I wouldn't be good for you," he murmured. "You're too innocent for my tastes."

"Oh, trust me, I'm not innocent," he laughed. "I _love_ going rough. Especially when I'm completely helpless…"

"Antithesis!" a sweet voice called.

He looked over his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. Now dressed in somewhat formal attire—though his vest was bedazzled about the shoulders—Spirits approached with a bright smile on his face. Within moments, the man who had approached him slinked away.

"There you are."

"Sorry, I was chatting with someone. Seems you were, too."

"No, he was just trying to get laid."

"You're in no mood?"

He shook his head. "I just had it an hour or so ago."

"Ah...I see." He stepped a bit closer and clapped his hands. "Well, why don't we get a little more privacy? Table or bar?"

"Bar."

"Excellent choice." Spirits led him to the bar, and they slipped into two stools near the middle. "Up for anything?"

"Gimme your best."

With a nod, Spirits ordered something called Sunset Arrival, a drink that gradually faded from red to yellow in the glass. It was sweet and fruity, and it made his mouth tingle when he sipped.

"I've missed you a lot," Spirits said. "Have you been all right?"

"Mmm-hmm. It isn't as bad up here as I thought it'd be. Dangerous, definitely, but Tyrant's helped."

"That's good. And...what about your living situation? How's that?"

Antithesis scoffed. "Interesting. He's really childish and volatile, but he definitely knows what he's doing. I'm lucky that he didn't kill me when he first met me."

"Mmm. Nice to know, but that's not exactly what I meant." He leaned forward and smiled. "I meant romantically. How is that?"

"Oh. Well…" Antithesis thought for a few moments, then said, "He's very affectionate, though it seems fake most of the time. It was annoying at first, but gradually it's gotten better."

"And...sex?"

Antithesis smirked. "Very intense. He's by far the best lover that I've had."

"Lover? So there's romantic attraction?"

"No, nothing like that. On my end, anyway. I don't know about him."

"That's unfortunate. I was shocked about the murder for most of the meeting, but I did notice that he's affectionate with you."

"Yeah." Once he'd finished the drink off, Antithesis asked, "Do you happen to have a private lounge area?"

"Lounge area?"

"A bed, couch—something like that, but in a private way. I need to talk to you."

"Ah, okay. I have a couch in my office upstairs."

He allowed Spirits to lead him up the stairs and into a small but cozy office area. Sure enough, there was a decent-sized couch in the corner.

Spirits turned to him. "So what did you—?"

Antithesis cupped either of his cheeks and pulled him into a deep kiss. Spirits' entire body froze, and he let out muffled noises of protest. Antithesis simply grasped the back of his head and wrapped an arm around his middle to keep him in place.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Spirits gave in. His body relaxed, and a little moan escaped from his throat. He wrapped his arms around Antithesis's neck and kissed back. All right, this was good. Arousal, excitement, anticipation...normal thus far…

Antithesis slipped his hand down and unbuttoned both his vest and shirt. Spirits was about the same size and stature as Tyrant, but based on the hardness pressing against his leg, Tyrant was bigger. It would do for now, though.

Antithesis broke the kiss and locked eyes with Spirits. "This is why I really came here," he murmured.

Broken from his daze, Spirits blinked and said, "Really? But...but Tyrant—"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him." He kissed Spirits again, briefer this time. "I just want to be close to you."

"Antithe—"

He kissed him again, harder this time, and led him back to the couch. Submissively, Spirits lay back on the cushions, pulling Antithesis down atop him. Antithesis reached into Spirits' pants and palmed his crotch, eliciting gasps from the ginger. He had the same tone of voice as Tyrant, but it wasn't as...sweet, persey. It didn't excite him as much. Not a good sign.

His responses in general were similar to Tyrant on the surface. He came relatively quickly; he clung to Antithesis desperately while he was fucked; his moans were high-pitched and creamy. In the end, all of those factors led to pleasure clinging to Antithesis, even as the duo lay with one another after orgasm.

Spirits lay curled atop Antithesis, his eyes closed and sweet vulnerability on his face. Antithesis held him loosely, but his expression wasn't nearly as pleased. Physically, yes, but emotionally, he was far from it. He reacted similarly to Tyrant, but they were by no means the same creature. No, Tyrant was far superior. Spirits sounded wonderful, but those sounds he made didn't arouse Antithesis the way Tyrant did. In fact, Spirits reminded Antithesis of someone he would've had sex with prior to Masaki—regardless of how much of a dick Masaki was. And now here Antithesis lay, his experiment over, and his worst fears confirmed.

He liked being with Tyrant.

"Hey," he murmured.

Spirits opened his eyes and glanced up. "Hmm?"

"Mind if I crash here for the night?"

"Not at all. Does Tyrant know where you are?"

Antithesis scoffed. "You act like he's my mother. Not the specifics, no. He just knows that I'm visiting you. I think he assumed that I would be in Lacks."

"Probably. Do you want left alone?"

He shrugged. "If you want."

"I actually need to go back down," he said, rising from Antithesis's hold. "Just to make sure my product doesn't get stolen. Ulterior will kill me if I waste profit."

This was true.

"I won't be a problem for you," Antithesis assured. "I may end up leaving earlier than tomorrow. Not sure yet."

"Feel free to come back whenever you please." He slipped on his clothes and smirked over his shoulder. "And do whatever you please, too."

Antithesis gave a wave in response, and Spirits left him.


	17. Chapter 17

He abandoned the place around five in the morning, leaving a curt note atop the couch on which he'd previously lain. Rather than going out the front door, Antithesis took the _far_ less complex way of climbing out the window and falling atop a cushion of garbage bags before weaving his way through alleys and reaching the main roads. If he would've encountered Spirits, it wouldn't have necessarily been awkward. It would've just been annoying and unnecessary. He didn't mind Spirits, but he was a tad _too_ talkative for his liking.

The early morning grey of North brought about introspection that Antithesis hadn't experienced in a long time. He'd been in North for...four, five months? That meant that it'd been almost a year since he'd been incarcerated back in West—a year since his feelings had been destroyed. But now, a year later, they were beginning to bubble back up to the surface. He wouldn't be as lively and happy as he'd been prior to incarceration—that was simple fact. But there was still a chance that he could at least enjoy himself more, and that chance was becoming more and more real with the passing days.

Tyrant...from the moment Antithesis had seen him, he'd been attracted to him. At first, though, Antithesis had just wanted to pound his ass and then throw him out. Fuck, that'd been his desire for the first month of being with him. But then came a new desire: knowledge. He'd begun analyzing, watching the way that Tyrant interacted with the world around him. He'd learned much, and even now there were still things he desired to know. But he'd told himself that he'd leave Tyrant eventually—he couldn't depend on Tyrant forever, after all. He could've left Tyrant now, if he wanted. But he didn't. He wanted to stay with the long-haired douchebag—not for protection, but for companionship. He _liked_ knowing that he had someone to spend time with again. He _liked_ having someone to live with. He _loved_ having someone to fuck.

And he wasn't sure if he should've been scared or elated.

Upon the jet ski he hopped, and back to the island he drove. Part of him dreaded returning here, but at the same time, he didn't care. He'd had sex with another person when he was involved with Tyrant, but was it truly cheating if they weren't truly together? Tyrant fucked other people all the time—surely Antithesis could fuck one and be fine.

He entered their home, and based on the lack of aerosol in the air, Tyrant hadn't gotten ready yet. It didn't sound like he was in his studio beneath the floor, though, nor did it sound like he was anywhere in the space. Was he still asleep?

After entering the bedroom that Antithesis had left the previous night, he found that his assumption was correct. Tyrant was still cocooned in blankets, a peaceful expression on his sleeping face. Antithesis plopped down onto the bedside and stared at Tyrant. Fuck, he looked cute. Silent and motionless and admittedly precious. Antithesis felt his heart warm, if only a little. He leaned down and kissed Tyrant's lips, and that warmth grew tenfold.

Slipping off his shirt, Antithesis crawled atop Tyrant and continued kissing him. Little noises escaped Tyrant's lips, and he fidgeted slightly beneath him. Antithesis ran his fingers through Tyrant's gently tangled hair, leaning forward and deepening their kiss. He could feel himself harden as his tongue slipped into Tyrant's mouth. Tyrant moaned again, somewhat louder this time, and his body arched a little to meet Antithesis's. He was still naked under the sheets. Had his mouth not felt so wonderful, Antithesis would've become the same.

Gently he ground his hips against Tyrant's groin, pulsing and hardening with each movement. He groaned into Tyrant's moans, creating a harmony of affection. He peeled open his eyes to peer down at Tyrant, and to his surprise, a pair of citrine orbs stared back at him. Reluctantly Antithesis broke the kiss, and he pressed his forehead to Tyrant.

"You're back?" Tyrant murmured. "Since when?"

"A few minutes ago." He kissed Tyrant briefly. "Miss me?"

"A little." He wrapped his arms around Antithesis's neck and pulled him down into another short kiss. Unsatisfied with just his lips, Antithesis trailed his tongue across Tyrant's cheek and gently assaulted his neck. Tyrant whimpered softly and tilted his head back. "You're in the mood for sex again?"

"Not sure yet," Antithesis murmured against his skin. "I am hard, but I'm not sure I want anal."

"Me too," Tyrant concurred. He pinched his eyes shut and moaned again. "Maybe...just this…"

"Wet cuddling?" Antithesis asked.

"No...dry…"

Antithesis furrowed his brow. "You don't want something sexual?" he murmured. "Really?"

"Not really…"

He chuckled softly. "Quite a turn of events. For once I'm in the mood, yet you're not."

He shrugged, almost demurely. "I'm still kinda tired…"

Antithesis didn't believe him completely; yes, he was undoubtedly groggy, but Tyrant had accepted sex that way before.

"Something wrong?" Antithesis asked.

"Not really. I just want to know where you went."

"Why?" he chuckled.

He shrugged. "You've never been out that long alone before. I got kinda lonely without you."

It wasn't just his actions—his voice and expression radiated a sense of vulnerability. Something was bothering him, though Antithesis wasn't sure what.

"I went to visit Spirits. I told you that."

"Yeah, but you were gone for awhile. What'd you two do?"

Without the slightest hesitation, Antithesis replied, "We may have fucked a little."

Tyrant blinked. "Fucked? Him?"

"Yeah." He altered his position, laying a bit more comfortably atop Tyrant's body. "Why?"

"Just...why him? He's not that attractive."

Antithesis had expected him to say something like, "He's a bitchass pussy who looks like glittery garbage," but this response was surprisingly more shocking. "He's not my type," Antithesis allowed, "but that's not why I fucked him."

"Then why?"

Defensiveness creeped into his tone. "Because I felt like it. Why the fuck do you care? You fuck other people all the time. It's not like we're lovers."

"Yeah, but…" He looked away. "Never mind…I'm not in the mood for sex." Tyrant made to sit up, and Antithesis got off of him. He threw on a tunic-like shirt over his—surprisingly present—boxers before leaving the bedroom.

Antithesis stared at the space where he'd stood before. He looked like he was about to cry. Was he really, Antithesis wondered? If so, why?

Not content with the mystery, Antithesis rose from the bed and walked out. Tyrant stood before a kitchen counter, making some type of tea that smelled pleasantly sweet. He had two cups before him—so even if he was upset, he was still considerate.

Antithesis stood at the corner of the counter. Tyrant glanced over at him for a brief moment before returning to his tea.

"What's wrong?"Antithesis asked.

"What do you mean?" Tyrant mumbled.

"This." Though Tyrant wasn't looking at him, Antithesis gestured to Tyrant as a whole. "You're depressed. Why?"

"I'm not depressed," he denied. "I told you, I'm tired."

"No, you're not. You're violent when you're tired. Remember when you bitch-slapped me and sliced up my back with your nails before throwing me to the floor because I shook you awake?"

"Vaguely…"

"Then we both know you're not tired. So what's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

Antithesis bypassed the statement, "Is it because I fucked Spirits?"

He hesitated. "No."

Yet again, he bypassed Tyrant. "Why?"

"Antithesis—"

"Why, Tyrant?" he pressed.

Tyrant sighed and threw down the spoon he'd previously held. "Why do you care if I'm upset?"

"Because I suffer when you're upset or angered. You get bitchy and pissy—more than usual. Then I try to interact with you, and you attack me."

"And? You're an adult—you can take it."

"But I don't want to. I've seen what you can do if you're pissed. I don't want to die."

"So it's all about you," Tyrant mumbled.

Antithesis narrowed his eyes. "Says the most selfish prick I've ever met."

"Fuck you," Tyrant hissed. "I'm way more selfless than you think."

"Do tell."

"Look at the past few months! I gave you shelter, schooling, and shit tons of assistance overall. I could've cast you out or killed you _many_ times, and yet you're still here, and you're relatively unharmed! _I'm_ the one who's taken all the pain for _you_! My district's lost funding and some territory because I wasn't there to focus! There was an assassination attempt made on me a few weeks ago that I never told you about, and it was because of people viewing me as a shitty leader! It's all because of you, Antithesis! You're the reason why I'm going to shit!"

"The why do you keep me around?!" Antithesis shouted. "What the fuck's keeping you from casting me out like you said?! I give you sex and moderate entertainment! Your life and success is more important than a sex friend! Why do you keep me around, Tyrant? Why?!"

"Because I love you, prick!" He banged his fist on the counter atop one of the glasses, which shattered, and some of the pieces stabbed his hand. He didn't seem the least bit affected, however. "You make me feel shit in my heart and in my stomach that I haven't felt with anyone before! You make me happy and cheer me up when I'm sad or angered, and you're attractive and charming, and I love you!"

Tears had long since fallen by the time he screamed the last sentence. Blood trickled out from the little cuts in his hand, too.

Antithesis simply stared at him. "You love me?"

"Yes!" His voice cracked as he shouted. He gasped as more tears dripped from his eyes. "I like being around you," he said quietly. Had he spoken any louder, his voice would've undoubtedly cracked again. "You make me feel desirable."

As much as it disgusted him, Antithesis's heart ached a little at the sight before him. So Tyrant felt betrayed by what Antithesis had done. Did that mean Tyrant hadn't had sex with anyone else for awhile? No, this was beyond sex. This was emotions in general. Tyrant...he was...in love...with Antithesis…

For the first time in a long time, Antithesis embraced someone with feeling behind it. Tyrant clung to him just as strongly, though one of his hands held on less tightly than the other. He sobbed into Antithesis's shoulder, and Antithesis stroked his back as lovingly as he could. He couldn't say it back to Tyrant—he didn't know if he'd ever be able to, either. He enjoyed being around Tyrant, too, but love...that was a weighty word. Antithesis knew just how intensely that weight could crush a person's heart.

Still, this felt nice.

Tyrant kept sobbing for the next few minutes, but gradually he cut down on the intensity of those sobs. Once that happened, Antithesis pulled back and pressed his forehead to Tyrant's. He wiped away excess tears with one hand, then stared into Tyrant's shiny, bloodshot eyes. "You're sure you love me?"

Tyrant nodded. "I'm sure."

Antithesis nodded once, then leaned forward and kissed Tyrant sweetly. "Okay. Let's clean up your mess. I'll finish up the tea."

Tyrant smiled softly.


	18. Chapter 18

"So...love...how'd that come about?" Antithesis asked this while removing the last of the glass from Tyrant's hand.

The previously distraught man had calmed considerably, now sitting in relatively content-looking silence. He simply shrugged and mumbled, "Fuck if I know. I don't even know if it's truly love. But it feels sticky and disgusting and sickening, so...I assumed…"

He didn't look up at Antithesis, currently or previously. He'd ceased crying a few minutes ago, but it still looked like tears could fall any moment. His eyes were grossly bloodshot, and they had a tired look about them. As for his hand, nothing had dug too deeply into it. Blood soaked his skin and half a roll of paper towels, but that was from the sheer magnitude of cuts on him. Antithesis had wrapped his hand once already, but the soaked bandages had proved useless, so he'd stopped the bleeding before wrapping it again. The strips of gauze only darkened a shade or two.

"That's a valid assumption," Antithesis said as he wrapped the last bit of gauze around his hand. "How's it feel?"

Tyrant moved his hand about. "Stiff. Kinda stings, too."

"No, not that." Antithesis poked his chest, and Tyrant stared down at him. "This. Your 'love,' as you assume it to be."

"Oh. That. Uh...good, I guess. I don't mind it, but it's a little...strange…"

Antithesis nodded. "That's common. I felt that before, too. And you don't know how it formed?"

"Well...I guess because of how genuinely interested you seemed in me...it felt nice to be kind of...needed…" Redness spread on his cheeks. "And, um...you're really...loving in bed…" The redness brightened. He looked admittedly adorable, regardless of how much of a mess he looked.

"I never thought that I was that way," Antithesis admitted somewhat playfully. "Is that why you stopped faking your reactions during sex?"

For the first time in the past fifteen minutes, Tyrant looked up. His wide, doelike—albeit horrendously red—eyes made him seem so much younger than twenty-five. "You...you noticed…?"

"Yeah. It was pretty easy to tell." He wiped his hands with a clean paper towel. "You started out really loud and outspoken, but as time went on, you became softer and cuter. That's how I knew you were faking at first."

"Yeah, I was," he mumbled, embarrassed. "Although it was really arousing, I was kinda disappointed with how rough you were at first, so I faked it. But then you started to seem more passionate, and my softer reactions were so strong that I couldn't fake it anymore."

"You could've just said that you weren't a fan of roughness."

He shrugged. "I didn't wanna seem like a pussy."

"You wouldn't have. I don't see you as a pussy now, though you cried while professing your love for me earlier."

He nodded but didn't reply. Antithesis disposed of the remaining garbage in the bathroom's trash can, then turned his attention back to Tyrant.

"You look like a wreck," Antithesis commented. He reached out and ran his fingers through Tyrant's knotted, ratty hair. "You plan on brushing this shit sometime soon?"

He shrugged. "You can do it if it bothers you that much."

"You trust me?"

"Brushing hair doesn't require skill. Just start from the bottom, not the top. Get the wide-toothed comb, then the thin-bristled brush. Both are on the sink."

Antithesis retrieved the two instruments from the light blue sink before sitting behind Tyrant. "Why do you dye it so much?" Antithesis asked as he began brushing his light blue tresses.

"I got bored with my natural color, so I dyed it blue when I was around nineteen. Then Royal came about, and I just decided that I liked the idea of changing my appearance a lot."

"What is your natural color?"

"I think you've seen it before. It's blonde. Kinda the color of sand, but a little lighter. I think I had it that way when I came back from West."

"So you admit that you were in West?" Antithesis asked. "Your hair was lavender, too, not blonde."

"Oh, right. I never denied that I was in West. I just didn't tell you what people I met."

"Right. Still not willing to say?"

Tyrant paused for a moment, then replied, surprisingly, with, "I was visiting family. I go once every few months so they don't think I hate them. I don't. I just got bored in West."

"Ah. I'm surprised, Tyrant. You revealed a lot, though that's not desirable."

"It's not like I told you my real name. Shit, I don't even know yours." He turned to look at Antithesis over his shoulder. "Not that I want to. Even if I...love...you, I still don't want to know that. It might be dangerous."

"I know. Ulterior told me." He finished brushing, and he now ran his fingers through Tyrant's smooth hair. "It's surprisingly healthy, considering your rough treatment of it."

"I regrow it every time I want to dye it. Otherwise it'd be breaking off hourly." He leaned back so his head rested upon Antithesis's chest, and Antithesis wrapped his arms around his middle. "You smell like shit, by the way."

"So do you, Tyrant."

Tyrant sighed, looking away in silence. They remained that way for a few moments, until Tyrant abruptly sat up and turned to face Antithesis. "Oh, I need you to come with me to Pits tonight."

"What for?"

"Well...you see...there's some matters that need attended to." His normal tone started to trickle back into his speech.

"Involving what?"

"Some, ah...ya know...drugs," he said, the last word bluntly.

"Why do you need me to buy drugs with you? Is this another learning experience?"

He chuckled. "'Buy,' you say...that's hilarious."

"So we're stealing?"

"Mmm-hmm! Now you've got it!"

Suddenly Antithesis wished the meek Tyrant would return. Then again, that meant watery affection, which Antithesis was not up for at the moment. He supposed he could tolerate a little more violence, at least for the time being.

* * *

Once nightfall descended upon North, Tyrant and Antithesis rode out on separate skis to the mainland. Tyrant justified going separately as a way to split the attention of those they were stealing from.

Most of Pits looked the same, according to Tyrant, but the area they were traveling to was different—it was beige, not white. That, and within their Pit was a shack with a large C—their group was called "Chemikals"—painted on the top. They were located near the middle of Pits, in an area known as Deep Shit. Though Medix produced and sold most of the drugs or medicines in North, illegal or not, Pits produced some of their own in order to avoid being taxed. It was illegal, definitely, so Tyrant justified it again by saying that they were doing a "drug raid on behalf of protecting Ulterior's profits"—something good. Even without that, Tyrant still would've stolen. Antithesis wasn't knowledgeable on his current drug history, but pulling a bottle of pills from a man's rectum reveals many things otherwise lost.

Antithesis's ski was the lesser of the two that Tyrant owned, but he'd had the courtesy to at least equip it with a radio. Ceasing movement for a moment, Antithesis picked up the speaker and turned it on. Once he had connection, he said, "Tyrant, how far are you from the mainland?"

' _Bout ten minutes,_ he replied. _You?_

"Give or take fifteen."

 _Careful of the rocks. I didn't reinforce the bottom of that one, so if you're gashed, you're sunk._

Antithesis nodded. "Tyrant would be landing in the eastern dock, while Antithesis would go west. They wouldn't meet until the end of their trip, though they did have earpieces in case shit went foul. Antithesis had the more difficult dock, filled with jagged rocks in shallow water.

 _I have stink bombs in case we need,_ Tyrant added. _They smell like booty and grape juice, and they also produce smoke for concealment. What do you have?_

"I took some of your knives and a set of spiked knuckles."

 _Ooh, my baby likes the sharp things. Arousing._

Antithesis rolled his eyes and hung up the radio, then continued to his destination.

Navigating his dock proved far easier than expected—contrary to what Tyrant had said, there were only three rocks, and they were relatively small. Either Tyrant had been gravely mistaken or had just been fucking with him. Both seemed plausible, but the latter seemed more likely. Nevertheless, Antithesis tethered the ski and stood upon the stone dock.

Currently resembling a concrete skate park, Antithesis almost hesitated to believe that this had once been an underground prison. The sloping pits were smooth, or at least looked that way. Wooden poles stood atop the pits, dim lanterns hanging from the tops. Pits was the largest area in North, taking up about a third of the island. However, according to Tyrant, something resembling the underground rail system existed in the aboveground pits. A few steps forward confirmed this.

Two sets of rails were on either side of the dock, one on the left and one on the right. Upon those rails were spots to attach...something else onto them.

"Tyrant," I said into the earpiece.

 _Don't use the rails,_ he said immediately. _Too loud. Too obvious. It doesn't take that long to get to their base. Only about fifteen minutes by foot. Go straight ahead. There'll be a barbed wire fence with a sign that says "Turn back from Chemikals." Little to the left of that is a manhole that leads to a stash house. That's where you're stealing from. Take as much as you can that's labeled with a W or an X._

"All right. Thanks, Tyrant."

Onward he went, walking at first, then jogging, then sprinting as quickly as he could. It seemed that all his seemingly extraneous exercise in prison and in North had paid off, as he was barely fatigued when he reached the barrier.

Three lines of circular barbed wire stood between Antithesis and further progression. Sure enough, a sign was there, but with far more butchered spelling than he'd thought.

 _Tern bak frum Chemikals,_ it read.

Now Antithesis saw why they were in the drug business.

To the left he went, and Antithesis found the manhole in the wall of a pit. He felt around the outside of the cover, searching for any lifted areas. When he found nothing, Antithesis took notice of a small button in the middle of the metal circle. He pressed it, and puffs of air released the cover from its spot. It clattered to the ground, and Antithesis looked in. It was a decent circumference, large enough for Antithesis to crawl through comfortably. In he went, leaving the cover behind. He knew that he should have put it back, but there was probably no good way to put it back from the inside. He'd just crawl quickly—that'd be enough to avoid detection.

Unlike sewer systems usually concealed by similar pieces of metal, this tunnel was completely smooth, much like the rest of Pits. Without hesitation he moved onward, the space almost pitch black in lighting. He relied solely on his sense touch to navigate the space. Luckily for him, the space was completely straight-on, so there was no questioning where to go. Rather, it was when to go there.

About five minutes after he'd entered, a dim light appeared in the distance. Even quicker he crawled, and the light got brighter and brighter. When the light became ideally bright, he stopped and looked down.

As Tyrant had said, the room beneath was full of drugs. Bags and bags of powder in block form lined one wall, and a crop of green plants sprouted in the corner. Glass tubes with little spouts sat on a table, and others of a similar construction with tubes stood on the floor. White unmarked bottles lay in three bins. Based on what Antithesis could see, there was no door that led out of the room, save for the tunnel he was in now.

The tunnel was about five feet from the ground, with the rest of the tunnel dropping down about five more feet. Based on what he could see, three rungs of a ladder hung from the bottom of the concrete.

Carefully, keeping his hands and legs outstretched on the walls of the vertical part of the tube, Antithesis climbed down the tube. When he reached the rungs with little incident, he climbed down them like a normal person, then dropped down into the room itself.

Tyrant said to take anything labeled W or X. He poked around the space, and he found that ground leaves represented the W, and a few of the bottles he'd thought were unmarked had X's on them. Pulling out the sack he'd taken with him, Antithesis loaded his bag with anything and everything he could fit in it. Just before it was bursting, he sealed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He looked up at the tube, then widened his eyes.

Attached to the smooth outside, barely visible, was a security camera.

"Fuck," he mumbled.

Without thinking, Antithesis grabbed a block of powder and threw it at the camera. Once a cloud concealed the camera's view, he jumped far higher than he'd ever done before, and he climbed and crawled as quickly as possible.

"Tyrant," he said into the earpiece. "There was a camera."

No response.

"Tyrant," he repeated.

Still nothing.

"Tyrant!" he shouted.

Silence.

Growling softly, Antithesis continued onward. The outdoor light gradually increased in brightness, until he finally reached the entrance.

And came face-to-face with a man in a mask.


	19. Chapter 19

Oh, what a beautiful night this was!

Rather than just one man in a mask, Antithesis had encountered a group of about ten, possibly more—though illuminated by the lantern lights, the area was still rather dark. Bandanas covered their mouths and noses, and black masquerade masks covered their eyes. Every member of the group held a Nail Bar. Tyrant had defined that as a metal or wooden bat or thick stick with nails shoved through the thickest part. Most frowned upon their usage, as many better, more suitable weapons existed in the world. He'd continued fighting, but though they were frowned upon, Nail Bars were known for being well-suited for "savage-like ass-beating."

So rather than experience that, Antithesis allowed himself to be dragged out of the tube, down across the ground for about a fourth of a mile, and into a little shack. At that point, a blindfold covered his eyes, and something that he assumed was a ball gag held his mouth shut. Also at that point they stopped dragging him, instead pushing him dangerously down a staircase that seemed to go forever. He'd almost fallen no less than eighteen times, and he was completely convinced that he'd sprained his ankle. Still, they shoved and hissed with breath that smelled like alcohol and shame.

At some point he reached flat flooring, hardwood based on the clacking of many boots against it. They tossed him to that floor, roughly and without hesitation.

And then some other shit happened, and that all led to Antithesis's current position.

That room possessed a bed and nothing else, but by no means was that bed normal. No, it was straight out of a dominatrix's darkest fantasies. He was stripped completely naked, save for the blindfold covering his eyes and the gag filling his mouth. His wrists were crossed above his head, and those wrists were restrained by two black cords that stretched down from the ceiling. In a similar situation were his legs. At the edge of the bed were two stirrups, which both of his feet rested in. Being at either side of the bed, the stirrups spread his legs far enough apart that they were perfect for someone to assault. Ooh, and assault, they did. Within his ass, a thick plastic dick buzzed and vibrated. Now, Antithesis wasn't unaccustomed to taking anal—all good gays went through it at _least_ twice before deciding their preferred position. However, Antithesis's preferred position was top, so the foreign body made him feel like a pussy and a bitch. However, since it was dry humping his prostate, it was rather arousing, but even if he was fine with coming, he couldn't. A metal ring held in place by two cords that extended to either bedside rested underneath his tip, leaving him painfully and shamefully hard.

 _Shit,_ this was horrible. His earpiece had been ripped off and broken prior to him being restrained this way, so there was—in theory—no way for him to know just what had happened. However, knowing Tyrant, he'd probably figure out what was going on rather quickly. Either that or he'd continue with his own raid before coming back for Antithesis.

Although…Tyrant _had_ professed his love for Antithesis…so perhaps… _perhaps_ he'd come back—

 _Shit, the vibrator was intense!_

"Whataya wanna do with 'im?" a growly voice asked.

"Dunno," a similar voice replied. "He doesn't seem to be strugglin' much. Maybe we can sell 'im."

"Ah, that's true. He ain't bad lookin'. Tall, extremely muscular, good face, no tattoos or piercings, kinda tame…he'd fetch a nice price."

"What should we call 'im, tho?"

"Dunno. Maybe somethin' like 'Gentle Giant.'"

"Fuck, no, that's bullshit!"

"Just a suggestion. I dun see you sayin' anythin'."

"Fuckin' fight me!"

Something clattered in the distance, and based on their voices, both seemed to turn toward the noise.

"What the fuck—?"

A loud thump, followed by a scream. "What the fuck was 'at?!"

Metal on leather sounded, but so did another thump, and after that, all was quiet.

It stayed that way for a few moments, with Antithesis only able to hear the sound of the vibrator and his own grunts and whimpers.

Gradually footsteps drew closer, sounding more like heels against hardwood than boots. A woman? Shit, he was kidding about the dominatrix!

"Well, isn't this an unexpected sight."

Antithesis's eyes widened beneath the blindfold, which was thrown off of his eyes moments later. His mouth was ungagged, allowing him to speak.

"Ulterior!"

He smiled so pleasantly down at Antithesis that it made him extremely uncomfortable. "You look rather comfortable, Antithesis."

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" A rush of vibration hit him, and a little groan escaped his throat. Ulterior chuckled.

"Saving your ass. For a payment, of course."

"P-Pay...ment…?" His eyes widened again. If Ulterior was here…then that meant…

He touched his ear, and Antithesis noticed another earpiece. "South room. Torture pit."

"Is...is he…?"

"If you mean your lover, yes," Ulterior said. "He'll be here shortly. That little bang you probably heard earlier was one of Tyrant's stink bombs."

Come to think, it did smell sort of like ass and grape juice.

"Can you at least…take out…the vibra—" The sensation within him grew more powerful, and his dick felt ready to pop. "Out…!"

"It's not my place to touch," Ulterior said. "Believe me, I'm not much better than you are, Antithesis."

 _But you don't have a vibrator in your ass or your dick restrained!_ Antithesis mentally shouted.

Booted feet hit metal steps in the distance, and Antithesis managed to turn away from his suffering and instead toward the door. "Ulmo!" Sure enough, it was Tyrant.

"Here!" Ulterior called back.

More footsteps sounded, and moments later Tyrant appeared in the doorway. "He's in—" His attention shot to Antithesis, and he stared with wide eyes. "—here…?"

Antithesis made to say something, but words failed to reach him as his pain grew.

Instead, Ulterior jumped in, "Based on the fact that it's plugged, they didn't do anything to his ass. Probably just did this and left. It's been about…looks like half an hour."

It felt like years.

"And you didn't free him?" Tyrant asked.

Ulterior shrugged. "I figured you'd want the honor."

"Ah…yeah…can you…go…?"

"Gladly." Ulterior exited the room.

A look between unease and surprise on his face, Tyrant walked up to Antithesis. "You look kinda cute restrained, to be honest." He first pulled out the vibrator, and save for a few seconds of intensity, the movement sparked relief in his body. Tyrant examined the toy. "Fuck, this is old. Newer ones come with little lube holes in them." He tossed it to the side, then undid the restraints on his member. "You're gonna come?"

"Y-Yeah…"

"Go ahead. I'll clean you up after." He pulled off the main ring, and as soon as that left the tip, the floodgates released. Antithesis drew in a sharp breath, and with an arch of his back, white liquid spewed into the air and onto his body. He let out an elongated, pleased groan, much louder than he'd originally wanted. At this point, though, he was more relieved to just be rid of the agony and embarrassment that had plagued him a moment before.

He practically collapsed in the bed, though the restraints prevented him from truly relaxing. Panting, he said, "I'd kiss you if I wasn't disgusted…"

"I understand. I'd kiss you, too, if you didn't look like a shiny piece of shit." Onto the arm and leg restraints he went. "Do you think you can walk?"

Once unrestrained, his arms and legs fell limply onto the bed.

"Take that as a 'no…'"

"No, I'm fine…just a little shaken from the…the things…I'll be good in a little bit."

"All right." Tyrant cupped his cheek and kissed him on the cheek. "There. All better." He patted his cheek before stepping away. "Clothes...well, fuck, looks like they're not here."

"What?"

"You have no clothes. Not sure where they went, but they're not here."

So he'd have to travel back completely naked—wonderful.

"And you wouldn't happen to have extra clothes on you? Boxers, at least?"

"Mmm, I have some on my body…"

"How tight are your pants?"

Tyrant didn't reply.

"Fuck."

"I don't think Ulterior's willing to give up his, either." Tyrant stared at Antithesis, and he tilted his head to the ide. "Hmm…can you get up yet?"

Antithesis nodded and rose from the bed. He still leaned against the wall, his legs unsteady and stomach on the verge of evicting all substances within it. Tyrant grabbed the single bedsheet and tore it down with a knife. He then wrapped the cloth around Antithesis's waist, using pins from his hair to secure it in place. It fell to about his knee, and while thin, it was good enough for now.

"There. You're welcome. Good to go?"

Antithesis nodded.

"Wonderful. You need a fucking shower."


	20. Chapter 20

A puff of smoke drifted from Tyrant's mouth, a new addition to the family that had already filled the room. He leaned back against Antithesis's bare chest, putting out the blunt in a green ashtray.

"Pure shit, that be," he mumbled. His voice had dropped about an octave since he smoked the first of his four blunts.

"You can tell…?" He'd been a little more conservative in his smoking, only having two joints thus far. Still, he could tell that his eyes were bloodshot, his mind had detached from his head, and the unicorn sipping tea over there was going to get his ass beat later.

"Yeah. I got high _real_ quick. And is a...just a _nice_ high, ya know?"

"Bro…I dunno what the _fuck_ you just said…"

"Bruh, me too, though…" He grabbed a can of light beer from nearby and drank heartily. When he finished, he tossed it in the general direction of about six other cans, and a loud belch burst from his throat. "But…!"

"But?"

"But…"

"What…?"

Tyrant paused. "I…I dunno…"

"Me too."

"Oh, fuck, I got it! I know…that your face…is a good face."

"Yours too, babe…"

"Love you, baby…"

He tilted his head back, and the duo kissed sweetly, albeit a tad messily. Following the ordeal at Chemikals' base, Antithesis had showered, and Tyrant had decided to celebrate their successful escape with premium-grade marijuana. Antithesis had been around others who had smoked it before, but he himself had never smoked it. It was pretty nice, all pleasuring and shit. But he didn't know if he wanted to do it more than a few times a year. Smoking felt like shit. He'd be sure to warn little children about its dangers, but only _after_ he killed the unicorn.

"Yo, kiss me a little more," Tyrant said. "You taste nice…"

Antithesis complied, pressing another messy kiss to Tyrant's lips.

"What do I taste like?"

"Niceness…"

"Cool…"

"Oh...by the way...you...I have something for you…"

"What?"

Tyrant turned around and hugged him. "That. That's for you."

"Ah, so sweet. You're beautiful, Tyrant." He kissed his cheek.

"Know what you should do?"

"What?"

"Get me another blunt."

* * *

And so they smoked, as well as drank, but as all fun times do, they ended in sleep. Sex had been suggested and attempted prior to, but not long after removing their clothes did the duo fall asleep, Tyrant atop Antithesis.

For awhile they slept, until midway through the morning some bangs sounded on the front door. It was Antithesis who awoke first, a pounding in his head louder than what persisted outside He nudged Tyrant off of him; he didn't stir in the slightest. Clad only in boxers, Antithesis made his way to the door.

"What?" he grumbled.

"Open the door," a voice ordered outside.

"Who for?"

"We're from Pits. We've been sent to retrieve the one called 'Antithesis' from this location."

His eyes widened. "What for?"

"Just open the fuckin' door!" another voice shouted.

Footsteps sounded behind him. "The fuck's screaming?" Tyrant stood by his side, looking more like a wreck than usual.

"People at the door."

Tyrant widened his eyes, and instantly he darted back to his bedroom. When he came back, he charged for the door, something resembling a spear in his hand. An outside force kicked the door open, and instantly Tyrant tossed the spear. It landed right beside the man who had kicked it open.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Tyrant shouted at them.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing?" the man asked. Both were dressed in a black military-style uniform, upon which a red R rested.

"That's just the way he is," the other said. "Tyrant, leader of Aethan District. And Antithesis, his...lover, I assume."

"What are you here for?" Antithesis asked.

"You. We've special orders from the Rounds to bring you here."

"You mean…?"

"That's right. You've been inducted into the Turnir Rounds."

"Why the fuck did _he_ get inducted?" Tyrant hissed. "He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"No, he has. Associating with you and your self-righteous 'drug raids' from the Chemikals facility. You can't talk your way out of this, Tyrant. We have the footage. Even if you kill us, more will come."

"Why him and not me?"

"Our current leader, Beguiler, denied taking you because of your position as district leader."

"But that has no effect on qualifications for induction."

"He also said that you were too famous."

Tyrant narrowed his eyes. "That fucking bastard…he just wants someone new to make shit interesting?"

"Based on what we were told, yes. He does. We were told to take Antithesis with us after he'd rid himself of all unfair advantages. You'll get a few minutes to do so, and if you do not comply, then we will take you by force."

"Bullshit, you'll take him!" Tyrant spat.

"I'll go."

"What?!"

"Just give me a moment so I can say goodbye to him." He nodded to Tyrant.

"Understood," the more bitter of the guards muttered.

The door closed, and instantly Tyrant unleashed a torrent.

"What the fuck are you thinking?! They're not just a game, Antithesis! You can and probably will die! It's rigged and brutal and _you will die_!"

"So you don't have any faith in my abilities?" Antithesis asked.

"I'm worried for you! I don't want you to die, Antithesis!"

"I won't die, Tyrant. There's no point in trying to avoid this. I'm going to be forced into this either way. You don't need to come with me. I don't want you to, either."

"Antithesis—!"

In a burst of sympathy and affection previously unknown to him, Antithesis wrapped his arms around Tyrant. He placed Tyrant's head on his shoulder and hugged him tightly. "Calm down. You'll be fine."

"Fuck you," he spat, though Antithesis could hear the tears bubble in his voice. He embraced Antithesis tightly, burying his face in his shoulder. "You're inconsiderate and a fucking idiot…"

Antithesis couldn't help but chuckle at the former. His heart did burn within him, deeply sickened by the knowledge that he'd be leaving Tyrant, possibly forever. His fingers combed through his—surprisingly soft and untangled—hair. It had to have been worse for Tyrant. He was in love with Antithesis, after all. Antithesis didn't know if he'd call it love, but he did have some feelings for Tyrant.

He cupped Tyrant's cheek and brought their foreheads together. Tyrant didn't meet his eyes, instead staring off to the side. Hot tears poured from his eyes, now bloodshot. Antithesis pressed a kiss to Tyrant's nose, then to his lips. Tyrant felt like a little child in his arms.

"I'm sorry," Antithesis murmured. "I'll miss you, Tyrant."

"I'll kill you if you don't come back…" he mumbled.

Antithesis chuckled. Lord, he was going to miss this.


	21. Chapter 21

As Tyrant had told him long ago, Pits accounted for nearly a third of the entire island, but he'd never disclosed just how much of that the Roundfields made up. There were three of them, two for the combat Rounds and one for the death Rounds. Each Roundfield was at least the size of a city block, if not bigger. In a black circle surrounded by a wall of chain-link fence, two competitors would battle it out until one gave up or died. Spectators could sit in stands outside the fence or stand on something like a scaffold within the battleground—of course, it was at a respectable distance from the actual fighters.

Beneath those Roundfields was something little better than a prison that served as lodgings for the fighters. Each one received their own room, only a tad bigger than a standard prison cell. Within was a bed, a hook on the wall, a light, and disappointment. Communal interaction was frowned upon, as it was believed to promote bonding—wholly detrimental to a competition of killing. Each contestant received their meals through a slot in the door. Whenever their fight was to happen, guards would lock the others in their rooms until the participants had abandoned the space.

Participants would enter the Roundfield through small tunnels on either side of the circle. A set of stairs in two places connected the underground space to the surface world, making it impossible for the participants to see each other. Anonymity was both valued and disregarded. All fighters, regardless of origin, would be called by their real names; however, they also did not know whom they'd be fighting until they stepped onto the Roundfield.

Antithesis currently walked toward that fate. He knew there were eleven contestants—six male, five female, with himself included—and that two had already been eliminated. Why there was an odd number was simply due to timing. Traditionally, twenty were used in the Turnir Rounds, which wouldn't start until twenty had joined. In the case of the Royale, as most called it, the tournament happened four times a year, regardless of participants. The number could range from six to sixty, depending on how many arrests the Roundsmen made.

A black jumpsuit clothed Antithesis's body. Each participant wore the same outfit, provided by the Rounds, to ensure that no one possessed unfair advantages or restrictions. Unlike the regular Turnir Rounds, the Royale allowed participants weapons. However, the contestants did not choose their own weapons. Instead, a group of about six rich spectators selected weapons for each. These could range from sharp sticks to machetes—no firearms were permitted, as that would make the fights quick and boring.

He reached the mouth of the tunnel that would lead him to the Roundfield. Two guards stood behind him, both armed with rifles. Outside, the announcer's voice rung through the arena.

"Welcome, spectators, to the third day of the Royale!" an enthusiastic woman's voice shouted. The crowd cheered and screeched like a group of rabid geese. "Today we feature a match between Taniki Bansen, originally from South, and Tetsuhiro Morinaga of West!"

As soon as "West" was said, the entire crowd erupted into a torrent of booing. He knew he wouldn't be favored in weapon selection. Those from South were characterized by darker skin and wild-looking hair, but there had been at least four of those in the initial lineup. Based on the name, his opponent seemed female.

The announcer continued, "Challengers, to the field!"

One guard pushed Antithesis forward with his gun, and after a small stumble, he strode down the tunnel and onto the Roundfield. He stopped about five feet from the center, as did his opponent. Bansen was in fact female, though her strong build and dreadlocked hair made her look masculine. Her eyes were intense but bloodshot—had she been crying?

"The challengers will now receive their weapons!"

Antithesis's gaze drifted upward. Behind the fence was a concrete tower, the top of which extended into the battlefield itself. A rectangular window allowed the spectators within—the group of rich bastards, usually—insight on the happenings of the battlefield below.

"The judges have decided the weapons of the challengers solely based on names and sexes," the announcer said. "For Morinaga, a bar, and for Bansen, a spear."

A guard came from either tunnel to hand the competitors their weapons. The bar he received was a black bat made of solid metal; Bansen received a wooden pole with what looked like a stone spade on the end. The guards abandoned the duo moments later, and the gates behind them closed.

"The match will now commence!"

Much faster than he'd anticipated, Bansen dashed forward with the spear in her hands. Antithesis managed to sidestep her stab, though she swung the end to smack into his side. Despite the wood being very hard, the hit wasn't entirely devastating. She looked solid, but for some reason, her attacks weren't reflective of her stature. Either her appearance was a lie, or emotions took over her actions. Based on her eyes, it had to be the latter.

Gripping his bat tightly, Antithesis delivered a savage blow to Bansen's back. She moved out of the way, but her shoulder received the brunt of the blow. Using the back of the spear, she stabbed Antithesis in the stomach. Stronger this time, the hit managed to bring on pain, as well as evict all air from his lungs. Before she could stab him in the face, however, he managed to lift the bat and meet her blow. As air flooded him once more, he swing the bat in a circle before jerking it to the side. Rather than stagger, Bansen held firm and stabbed again.

Antithesis jumped out of the way, but the stone spade nicked his shoulder enough to draw blood. A hiss escaped from his mouth like helium from a balloon. Shaking his head, Antithesis took the bat in one hand and smashed it upon the spear. As he'd anticipated, the staff snapped in half, but to his surprise, Bansen wasn't fazed. She instead grabbed the other half before it could fall and cracked it against Antithesis's temple. His head whipped down, but thanks to a blind kick, he managed to buy himself enough time to back away from his challenger.

She was much more nimble than he'd expected, but Antithesis could tell that he was superior in terms of physical strength. If he could get her on the ground, all would be over.

She dashed for him again, and Antithesis did the same. Right before they could collide, however, Antithesis slid on the ground and knocked Bansen off of her feet. She hit the ground hard, and her spear parts flew from her hands. As much as he didn't want to, Antithesis recognized what he had to do for survival— _for Tyrant_. Shutting off all emotions, Antithesis stood over his opponent, lifted the bat, and brought it down upon her head in a single, devastating blow.

The crowd practically orgasmed when her head split open, but Antithesis only felt emptiness. Granted, that was the intention, but he wasn't completely dead inside. The only thing keeping him from completely succumbing to guilt was the thought of Tyrant. Had he been merciful, he could have been dead. He could have never seen Tyrant again, and he wasn't sure if he was willing to accept that.

He turned up to the spectator booth, but rather than grins and laughter of approval, he viewed the men discussing something with mildly troubled faces. They only returned their gazes to the battlefield when the announcer spoke again.

"It seems we have a development in the Royale," she said, her voice just as surprised as everyone else's faces. "This has only happened twice before in history, but a new contestant has been added to the Royale. Usually we do not disclose the names of the contestants in the actual match, but special request from our sponsors tells us otherwise. Without further ado, I present the twelfth addition to the Royale: Souichi Tatsumi of West!"

The tunnel gate across from Antithesis opened. Clad in the black jumpsuit of the other contestants, his ash blonde hair tied up, was a stern-faced Tyrant.

Antithesis dropped his bat and his jaw.


	22. Chapter 22

No clock stood in the rooms of participants, as that absence supposedly promoted unease, which then promoted hysteria, which then made for an excellent show. However, despite the lack of timepiece, Antithesis was sure that an hour past midnight overlooked the surface world. Tyrant's arrival had shaken him deeply, and that shaking now prevented him from sleeping. The acceptable point of sleep was nearly three hours ago—he just couldn't get Tyrant out of his head.

After being introduced, he was escorted away. Not once did Tyrant look at him with a sense of familiarity, whether it involved hatred or concern. Not even an awkward smile. Just stone-faced severity.

What could he possibly have done to get in here? After all, Antithesis only left the island a week ago. What was his reason for being here? They'd said that they didn't want him due to his notoriety; so why take him now? What had changed?

Something banged overhead.

Antithesis looked up.

It banged again.

He slowly sat up in bed.

A third bang, this one loudest. The vent above swung open, and out fell a person. Or, rather, a tyrant.

Tyrant sat up and rubbed his head. " _Fuck,_ that hurt," he mumbled.

Antithesis practically charged toward him before cracking the back of his hand across Tyrant's face. Tyrant fell back, but before he could hit the floor, Antithesis grabbed him by the shirt and brought his face close.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Antithesis hissed. Though viciously, he also spoke quietly; someone may hear, and they both may be forced to fight each other if that was true.

"Hello to you, too, bitch," Tyrant mumbled. "Hitting me in the face right after I fell from the fucking ceiling—what kind of savage are you and how can I handle that savage dick of yours?"

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed. "Why are you here, _Souichi_?"

"Don't say that fucking name!" He pushed Antithesis away and sat up at a respectable distance. "Well, _Tetsuhiro_ , I'm not here out of the goodness of my heart. I got arrested in West."

Antithesis stared, seemingly unfazed.

Tyrant elaborated, "I _may_ or may not have beat the shit out of a police officer because he called me indecent. And I _may_ have ejaculated on his face."

"And you were in West because…?"

Tyrant sighed. "I guess I should probably just start from the beginning. You know my name, right?"

"I've heard of it. Your family's big in science, right?"

"Yeah, we are. I was supposed to overtake, but I got bored and decided to go into looking like the gayest of badasses instead. Then I met Ulterior and shit went downhill real quick. Anyway, reason for being there in the modern times is because of a promise I made awhile ago. After the first time I almost got put in here, I went back to my family and promised to visit them once a month. I actually went already this month, but...well, I was feeling a bit of conflict…"

Antithesis stared at him, not angrily but in awe. He'd gone to West, possibly the most hostile location for someone like him, and it was all for Antithesis.

His eyes widened.

"What?" Tyrant asked.

"Why here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you come _here_ to reunite? Tyrant, assuming all goes well, we'll still have to kill each other in the end!"

"I know. Well...I don't know, I was kinda rash in my thinking, and I was a little high, too…"

"Tyrant…" Antithesis let his voice fade and blinked. Was he...was Tyrant…suicidal? And he wanted Antithesis to be the one who killed him?

"I'm not suicidal or anything," he assured with a chuckle. "I just...wanted to be sure...you know...that we'd be together…"

In a sickening way, he was sweet in his thinking. Antithesis wanted to hug him.

"So...you don't hate your family?" Antithesis asked. Though he already knew the reality ahead, he couldn't bear the thought of it anymore. At least, not for the time being.

"No. We were actually a really close family. Loving, too." He paused, then sighed, defeated, and added, "You...you heard my name, right?"

Antithesis nodded. "Tatsumi—big in science, right?"

"Agriculture, particularly. I was supposed to carry shit on, but I got bored of studying bacteria. So I dragged my ass about until I ended up here. Yours is shitty, right?"

"Little bit," Antithesis mumbled. "Strict, more like. Conservative, too. So, naturally, me being gay was frowned upon. I got caught fucking someone, and after something just short of a fistfight, I got kicked out of home. I was...nineteen then. And I'm twenty-three now. Life's been beautiful since."

"Twenty-three? Fuck, I thought you were older than me."

"You're twenty-five, right?"

"Mmm-hmm. Twenty-six in about a month and a half."

"When's your birthday?"

"August 2nd. You?"

"July 5th."

"Fuck, that's in a week."

"Yeah. I usually don't celebrate, though. No good memories of my birthday."

"Ours were always nice. Normal parties and shit. I usually just drink a lot on my birthday. Fucked a lot, too. Though I don't desire the latter anymore."

"You don't wanna fuck me?"

"No, I meant other people. Shut up."

Antithesis chuckled softly. Perhaps staying here wouldn't be that bad after all…

No, who was he kidding? He was going to die here!


	23. Chapter 23

So the days ticked their way by, and each one was extremely longer than the last. Antithesis had been involved in no fights after his; at least, not for a few days. So he just sat in his room, watching the conflict on a monitor that displayed the battle's happenings. The remaining challengers were formidable, but each of them had the same fearful look in their eyes. None were cold-blooded, thankfully; that would have made for an extremely difficult, taxing fight that he wasn't prepared to participate in. None of them seemed overly strong, either. Antithesis probably could have crushed their skulls with a single punch, should he hit them hard enough.

As he'd just been inserted recently, Tyrant was placed with the outlier challenger, so he was scheduled last. Antithesis watched only in passing when the other challengers fought; with Tyrant, however, he watched with bated breath.

His challenger was also from South, though Antithesis didn't catch his name. Something with an R. Rokta, maybe. He was relatively massive, at least when compared to Tyrant. Regardless, Tyrant didn't seem affected. Rokta held a club in his hand, and Tyrant had a rusty spoon. His reputation must have gotten the best of him when it came to the judges—the identities of whom had not yet been revealed. Antithesis wondered if he'd ever know who the judges were.

The battle commenced, and instantly it was clear who the victor would be. Rokta charged at Tyrant with his club brandished, but when he swung it down, Tyrant dodged easily. He crouched, then lunged upward to stab Rokta through the stomach with the sharpened end of the spoon. To solidify the blow, Tyrant jerked his weapon to the side, effectively gutting him. He pulled out the spoon, but before Rokta could even fall to the ground, Tyrant stabbed him through the eyeball—an _extremely_ gruesome display. The monitors didn't have sound, but he could tell that Tyrant's fight had garnered reactions of still shock. Rather than walk off emotionlessly, Tyrant outstretched his arms, pulled one to his chest, and bowed, like an actor in a theater. He remained that way for a bit of time, then pointed his finger in the direction of the judges' booth. He shouted something at them, then exited his "stage."

Antithesis just stared at the screen. What the fuck was that? Had Tyrant just _celebrated_ someone's death at his hands?

He thought back to their first meeting. Tyrant had saved Antithesis from kidnapping and/or murder, and to do that, he'd killed someone. Now that he looked back, Tyrant didn't seem that affected. He didn't seem like he'd enjoyed it, but he didn't seem very somber, either. Would he be like that with Antithesis? Hell, would he be able to kill Antithesis at all? Fuck, would Antithesis be able to kill _him_?

Thoughts like those plagued his mind as night fell, and they only spiked in intensity when Tyrant fell—gracefully this time—from the vent.

"What's up?" Tyrant whispered. He seated himself on the bed, right next to Antithesis. His lips met Antithesis's in a sweet kiss. "I missed you."

"Me too," Antithesis mumbled.

Frowning, Tyrant lay on his back across Antithesis's legs and stared up at him. "What's wrong? You look awful."

"Nothing. I just...I watched your fight earlier."

"Mmm." Tyrant drew swirls with his finger on Antithesis's bare torso. "You have a really nice body. I like it."

"I know, Tyrant."

Tyrant sat up and cupped Antithesis's cheeks. "But it's in desperate need of love," he murmured, kissing Antithesis deeply.

Antithesis didn't fight him, but he didn't feel nearly as eager. "Is it really a good idea to have sex?" he asked. As he spoke, Tyrant started licking and kissing Antithesis's neck. Letting out a soft moan, Antithesis tilted his head to the side to give him more access. "Someone might hear…"

"I'll be quiet," Tyrant promised.

"No, you won't."

"Yeah, you're right." He ran his fingers through Antithesis's hair. "Well, can _you_ stay quiet?"

"Probably."

"All right." With a final kiss to his neck, Tyrant moved to his knees. "This good?"

"Sure."

Tyrant opened the rest of Antithesis's jumpsuit and pulled down his underwear. Taking his member in hand, Tyrant slipped it into his mouth and began sucking. Antithesis let out a sigh and tilted his head back. His fingers curled in Tyrant's hair.

"I've missed this," Antithesis murmured. He thrust gently into Tyrant's mouth, eliciting soft groans from his mouth. "I have a lot built up."

"I can tell," Tyrant said, running his tongue up Antithesis's member. "You're pulsing."

"I know. Get ready."

Tyrant chuckled, the vibrations enough to send Antithesis over the edge. He let out a grunt and came into Tyrant's mouth. Tyrant moaned softly as well, and he consumed the release without hesitation. Courteously he removed Antithesis's jumpsuit, then took off his own. He sat in Antithesis's lap, then wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him sweetly. Antithesis ran his hands up and down Tyrant's sides, squeezing gently. He broke the kiss moments later, then murmured, "Didn't I say no sex?"

"It's not sex," he murmured back. "I'm just in the mood for kissing."

"I'm not," he mumbled.

Tyrant pouted down at him. "Why not? You're already done after coming once?"

"It's not that. I'm just...not in the mood…"

The playful edge to his voice disappeared. "What's wrong, Antithesis?"

"What isn't wrong?" he asked. "We'll be fighting one another soon."

Guilt seeped into Tyrant's countenance, and he stared off at the monitor. "You saw?"

"Yeah. I did. What was the show you gave?"

"Show?"

"Yeah. You bowed after you...killed your opponent. And shouted at the judges. Why?"

"Oh, that…" Tyrant sighed. "You want to know what I shouted at them?"

"Preferably, yeah."

"I told them, 'You should've executed me when you had the chance. This Royale won't have a victor.' Or something like that. They don't want me to win, and it's extremely visible. I think they want you to win."

"Me?"

"Yeah. They know your relationship to me—having you kill me would be extremely wonderful to them. However...we both know that you're not going to kill me. And I won't kill you. That's why I said there won't be a victor."

"So what do we do in the final round?"

Tyrant shrugged. "I don't know. They'll keep us here until one of us is killed. I don't want to die, and you don't, either, but...suicide is probably the only way out of dying here anyway."

"No, that's not happening," Antithesis denied. "We're not going to kill ourselves. We can't! There has to be another way to escape!"

"There's no way out from under here, and if we try on the top level, they'll just shoot at us until we're dead. The only way we could both get out as the 'victors' would be if the judges make an exception. That hasn't happened in the history of the Royale."

"What qualifies for a reason to make an exception?"

"I don't know. No one's ever done it before."

Antithesis hugged Tyrant tightly, keeping his head in his chest. "I changed my mind," he whispered. "I want to have sex."


	24. Chapter 24

The Royale progressed for another week, and in that week, Antithesis thought he would vomit everywhere. Following Tyrant's fight, his match was up next. He didn't even care to learn the name of his opponent—his mind was far too fixated on finding a way out of the Roundfield. The chainlink fencing wasn't extremely strong, but it was extremely high, and that proved difficult for a speedy escape. Antithesis was extremely strong, but he wasn't nearly as agile. Tyrant could probably have gotten out faster, but their backs would be to guns. They could have climbed to the judges' booth, but then guns would be at their faces.

Despite being minimally invested in the fight, Antithesis managed to defeat his opponent with relative ease. His weapon was a very long chain, which he used to choke his challenger until he stopped struggling. Half an hour had elapsed before the fight ended, though most of that was from Antithesis running away from attacks.

Tyrant visited him that night, as he did every night, and in celebration of his victory, Tyrant provided him once again with a blowjob. For being so sporadic, Tyrant was surprisingly consistent in his lovemaking abilities, even gentle. Antithesis found it somewhat difficult to keep near silent, as Tyrant's movements were especially pleasing that night. In a twist of events, Tyrant decided to lay with Antithesis until he fell asleep. Sure enough, he fell asleep with Tyrant in his arms, and when he awoke, he'd disappeared.

The fights continued, and Antithesis watched them only in passing. Once Tyrant's fight popped on the monitor, however, he paid close attention.

Yet again, it seemed obvious that Tyrant would win. Using only a handheld pitchfork, he managed to effectively slay his opponent within five minutes. Again, he bowed to the judges, but this time he didn't shout at them. Instead, he just walked off the Roundfield with a stony expression.

Antithesis lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. There was no way to escape from this area, Tyrant had claimed. Was that really true? Tyrant used the vent system to travel from his room to Antithesis's, and he said that the vents provided air from the aboveground. Based on the staircases that connected the rooms to the Roundfield, they weren't too far underground. Maybe the way wasn't _through_ the place, but _up_ the vents.

Antithesis rose from the bed and stared up at the vent. Tyrant was smaller than him, but not by a drastic amount, so fitting through the grate shouldn't have been a problem. Based on how he'd fallen through each night, the vent grate opened out, not in. He couldn't reach it by hand from the floor—at least, not quietly.

His eyes drifted to the bed. It wasn't attached to the floor or the wall…

As quietly as he could, Antithesis dragged the wooden bed over to the vent—a journey of about three feet. Luckily, no intensely loud noises emanated from the movement. Carefully he climbed atop the bad, and he found himself right underneath the grate. A quick inspection revealed that it had been loosened considerably from the inside—undoubtedly Tyrant's doing. Slowly, Antithesis pulled open the vent. The metals creaked against each other, singing a discordant tune. Luckily for him, the noise level remained that of scurrying rats.

He pulled himself up into the vent, far larger than he'd originally anticipated. He couldn't stand, but he could crawl comfortably. And crawl he did, keeping his movements quick but small. Through small slits and other grates, Antithesis was able to view the rest of the underground space. He found what he assumed to be Tyrant's room—the sheets on the bed looked like a wreck.

The more he crawled, the more dashed his hopes became. No chute provided a definite way to the aboveground. When he did come across one, they either too high to climb quietly or too high to climb at all. He searched mercilessly, for what had to have been half an hour, but with no luck. Defeated, Antithesis crawled back to his room, hopped down, and let dread eat away at his intestines.

* * *

More days ticked by, and more participants fell, until finally, only Tyrant and Antithesis were left. His intestines were gone three days ago, but dread still rotted away his insides. They were kept "apart" for the next week. Outside of the Roundfield, various aspects of the media publicized and advertised the fight between Tyrant and Antithesis. This hype for the fight promoted more ticket sales, the profits of which were given to the winner of the fight without tax.

Though, of course, that sum couldn't make up for the loss they would both experience.

After what felt like twelve years, the fight came, and Antithesis had no insides left that hadn't been molested by dread's fingers. Both were given the same weapons: a single but ferocious knife. Antithesis gripped that knife tightly in his hand now, to the point where his knuckles were white. He stood at the end of the hall, his heartbeat rapid. The announcer spoke some nonsense outside, undoubtedly hyping the audience about impending deaths. How pleasant.

The gate at the end opened, and sunlight poured into Antithesis's path. Despite how promising it looked, it only brought a sense of despair.

 _This is it,_ he thought. _We'll die here…_

He carried leaden feet onto the Roundfield, where he viewed an equally-distraught Tyrant. His eyes were bloodshot, though, and the sunlight beamed brightly on Tyrant's tear streaks. This had to be more than devastating for him—he was in love with Antithesis, after all. Based on how he felt, though, Antithesis started to call his emotions the same thing.

"Let the final battle of the Royale commence!" the announcer shouted.

The duo stood silent and motionless for a few moments, but only seconds after the announcer spoke, Tyrant dashed forward. He brandished his knife and brought it across in a slash, but Antithesis managed to collide his own blade with Tyrant's. The sadness and anxiety brought with this reality affected his abilities—Tyrant was trembling, and little noises bubbled from his mouth.

Antithesis widened his eyes.

A sense of urgency filling him, Antithesis swung his hand to the side and pressed his foot to Tyrant's chest. The blow brought him to his back, but Tyrant didn't make the slightest effort to get back up. Despite this, Antithesis straddled his hips and held the knife above his forehead. He kept his expression stony, a stark contrast from the teary mess that was Tyrant.

"I love you…" he whispered, his voice broken by sadness.

Antithesis just stared down at him. He looked so defenseless…

He gripped the knife tightly and brought his arm up. Sunlight glinted on the tip of the blade. Tyrant pinched his eyes shut.

Antithesis brought the knife down.


	25. Chapter 25

Right beside his head.

Tyrant stared up at him, his eyes wide. Tears had ceased falling from his citrine orbs, but traces of sadness mingled with his confusion.

Antithesis lowered himself slowly, almost menacingly, touching Tyrant's forehead. His calloused hand cupped Tyrant's cheek, and his lips met the other man's.

The gasp from the crowd could be heard for miles.

Antithesis kissed him hard and long, practically sucking the air from his lungs. When he did pull away, Tyrant was heaving.

"W-What're you—?" Tyrant gasped as Antithesis ran his tongue about his neck. Occasionally he nibbled on spots he knew were sensitive, heightening the sensations Tyrant undoubtedly experienced.

"They want us to kill each other," Antithesis murmured. "But they didn't say how."

He held Tyrant down with the weight of his body. Skillfully he ripped open Tyrant's jumpsuit, and he moved his ministrations to his nipples. Tyrant's back arched, and his arms tensed. Moans burst from his mouth, though it sounded like he was trying to restrain himself.

"Fake it," Antithesis ordered. "Make it as loud and excessive as you need. Just make sure the judges can hear."

He pulled off Tyrant's boxers, and Antithesis released his member without removing his clothes completely. After stroking himself into erection, he lathered himself in saliva and rammed into Tyrant's ass. As he'd hoped, Tyrant let out a massive scream. Antithesis threw his head back and pinched his eyes shut. The sounds of disgust from the audience had subsided, now replaced by stunned silence.

Grabbing either of his legs, Antithesis rammed in and out of him mercilessly. He wouldn't cause Tyrant harm, of course, but he'd probably limp for a time. Better than death, he supposed—at least it felt good.

Both let moans, grunts, cries, and screams escape from their mouths, albeit Tyrant's were louder and more genuine.

With a grunt reminiscent of rusty machinery grating against each other, Antithesis released into Tyrant's ass. Tyrant cried out his name in the fakest voice Antithesis had ever heard. Still, that was what he wanted.

He didn't give Tyrant a chance to rest before proceeding. He pulled out of his ass and went to his member. Before it could even consider softening, he had his mouth wrapped around the shaft. Again Tyrant arched his back, this time in a much more exaggerated manner.

 _Just like that,_ Antithesis thought. He sucked harder on Tyrant's member, as if he could withdraw his semen just from that. Pre-come dripped out from his tip, but nothing else seemed to escape. Not yet, anyway.

He trailed his teeth along the sensitive shaft, and he could practically feel Tyrant shiver. His reactions were strong; hopefully they wouldn't subside any time soon. Knowing Tyrant, however, that wouldn't be a major issue, _especially_ if he was faking it as instructed.

He sucked and slithered about Tyrant's dick, and surely enough, semen burst out like champagne from a bottle. Along with the liquid, a loud cry released from his mouth. Antithesis wondered how his vocal cords hadn't shattered already.

Antithesis kept the semen in his mouth for a time, sloshing it about and mixing it with saliva. Once he felt it was the right consistency, he opened his mouth, and it coated Tyrant's upper body in a grotesquely erotic display. He thought he heard someone vomit from the stands.

Unlike normal, he didn't lick up what he'd expelled onto Tyrant's body. Rather, he left it there, and he moved down further to his ass. He plunged his tongue into the hole, spreading Tyrant's legs apart all the while. It was tight, damp, and mildly disgusting inside, but if anything would disgust the onlookers, it was this.

And, oh, it did.

Screams and cries of outrage burst from the mouths of spectators, and based on how it sounded, some tried to throw things over the fence and at Tyrant and Antithesis. Not that they could, though. Even the people on the scaffold were too far away.

Antithesis pulled off of Tyrant's ass and returned to his chest. Like melted ice cream the liquid trickled about Tyrant's body, and like a child Antithesis eagerly licked it all up. He spat it out once finished, though. Cold semen didn't taste pleasing. After wiping his mouth, he smashed his lips to Tyrant's once again.

They remained that way for a few minutes, until a gunshot rang throughout the Roundfield that placed a bullet right next to the duo. Antithesis took his lips off of Tyrant's, and he looked to the judges' booth. A gunman had a rifle with a smoking barrel pointed at them. A man he assumed to be Beguiler, Pits' leader, stood beside him.

Antithesis held his gaze sternly.

"Morinaga, Tatsumi, I have news for the both of you," Beguiler boomed, his voice bitter and scathing.

Antithesis sat up and pulled the mess called Tyrant up in his lap. He felt and looked small, his face bright red and breaths coming in pants. Antithesis stroked his hair lovingly, keeping him close—almost protecting him from harm.

"The judges have never made an exception in ending a fight in the Royale, especially not the final match. Today is no different. However, another first was made today—the payoff of both of you by an individual judge. You are both henceforth free of the Royale, but neither of you are victors, and so you will receive no reward. Leave this Roundfield and end this _disgusting_ display immediately."

Part of Antithesis wanted to continue that "disgusting display," but that would be cruel to Tyrant, who had already fallen asleep.

* * *

Boos and curses escorted Tyrant and Antithesis as they left the Roundfield. As was customary for the winner—though neither technically was—they walked out with sheets covering the top of their bodies, though they did have clothes on underneath.

Only half an hour had passed since they had gotten "paid off" from their fight before they left. Tyrant, as Antithesis had expected, walked with a slight limp in his step. Both stared forward, stone-faced and silent, not sparing those who stood on either side of them a single glance.

They'd apparently be meeting the judge who had bought them their freedom, and they would be taking them home. So for about two blocks they walked, until they reached the destination previously agreed upon: a shady-looking alley with garbage and rats having an orgy. A man in a black coat with a hood leaned against the wall of one of the buildings, a cigarette extending from his mouth.

"Are you the judge?" Antithesis asked.

He pulled off his hood, and in the most typically ironic fashion of life, Ulterior's face greeted them.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" Tyrant shouted. Had he not been temporarily incapacitated, he would have pounced on Ulterior.

"What? I may be the head of Medix, but I get bored, too. What better way to pass the time than watch frightful men and women kill each other?"

"You bought us out?" Antithesis asked. "Why?"

"Well, as interesting as that display was, watching two fags have rough sex isn't very pleasing to watch," Ulterior said flatly. "That, and I like Tyrant far too much to let him suffer like that. So I took all the money I made from taxing drugs and bought your freedom."

"You're such a bastard," Tyrant said. "I love you."

Antithesis backhanded him.

"Fuck you," Tyrant mumbled.

"Ah, such a loving relationship you two have." He tossed his cigarette aside and stood upright. "So, shall we take the underground?"


	26. Chapter 26

They reached the docks of the Aethan district through the underground railway. Fifteen minutes their journey lasted, as Pits and Aethan were on complete opposite sides of North. By regular rail, that would've taken them forty-five minutes, but the "bullet trains" were able to go far quicker than regular ones. Through it all, Antithesis's journey provided Tyrant's head a comfortable place to rest. Ulterior smoked and snickered about their minimal but sweet interaction. Antithesis paid him little mind, however, instead focused on Tyrant. That, and some thoughts of his own.

The past few months had been a battlefield located on a steep mountain surrounded by a moat of lava, but he would rather that than rotting away in the Tombs. Tyrant proved rather nice to be around, too, even if he was a bastard. His subtle sweetness and generosity...well, they didn't outweigh his bitchiness, but at they were present enough for Antithesis's taste. His new life was more than adequate.

But memories of his old life in West still remained, ones that he wanted to destroy completely.

Ulterior had prepared a small boat to ferry them home. Tyrant's jetski had been confiscated in West, apparently, and its fate remained unknown. The water remained calm, and they managed to reach the island in only five minutes.

The moment Ulterior departed from their island home, Antithesis carried the extremely tired Tyrant bridal-style inside. He then deposited him on the couch, where Tyrant curled into a ball and instantly dozed off. In honesty, Antithesis was convinced that Tyrant had fallen asleep completely on the boat, and he'd only stood up through sleepwalking. Or, rather, sleep-standing.

Though it wasn't particularly cold, Antithesis acquired a blanket and sat upon the couch with Tyrant. He pulled Tyrant into his lap and draped the blanket over his lover. He looked so peaceful and lovely—like a little cat.

Antithesis sighed and stared up at the ceiling. He'd tell Tyrant he loved him when he awoke. The Roundfield was a poor place for a confession like that.

That, and his desire to tie up his loose ends in West.

* * *

He awoke a few hours later, with a soft yawn escaping his lips and grogginess covering his eyes. Strikingly he resembled a newborn. With fisted hands he rubbed his citrine eyes, and after he seemed to realize where he was and what he was doing, he sat up and hugged Antithesis.

"Morning," Antithesis said.

"Hi," Tyrant mumbled. Sleep still laced his voice. "You're so nice, letting me sleep…"

"You've been through a lot. You deserved rest."

He could feel Tyrant's smile. "I love you."

"I love you too," Antithesis murmured back, kissing his temple.

Tyrant looked up. "You do?"

Antithesis nodded. "I suppose I have for awhile. I just didn't know what to call it, I guess."

"Ah. I kinda assumed you'd figure it out sometime soon."

" _You_ knew?"

"Had suspicions, more like. Glad to know I was right."

Antithesis nodded. He paused for a moment, then said. "I have a...request."

"Don't tell me you want another round."

"No, no, nothing like that. That'd be cruel to you, Tyrant. I want to go somewhere with you."

"But we just got home."

"It doesn't have to be now, or even that recently. I want to go to West."

Tyrant's expression went from groggy to curious. "Why for?"

"I want to speak with my brother," Antithesis replied. "You know...to properly end things with him. I don't think anyone really knows what happened to me after I escaped going to the Tombs. I just want to completely end everything instead of leaving a gaping hole of ambiguity."

"Ooh, big words," he mumbled. "I'm not sure if that's ideal. West is a little violent to our kind."

"I look relatively normal."

"Yeah, but I kinda just got arrested a few weeks ago. You think it's safe for me to go?"

"What part of West were you in?"

"The shitty part."

Antithesis stared.

"The _criminal_ shitty part. The one with the bigass prison."

"Sulfuric Shithole?"

"Yeah, that one."

"Oh, in that case, you'll be fine. My brother's in the business district. Married to some bitch he barely knows and doesn't love."

"Repressed fag?"

"Absolutely."

" _Fuck_ , those are my favorite types of fags."

"Don't bother trying to open him up. He's a bastard."

"I assumed. Well, I'm in no mood for anything but cuddles and dreaming."

"You're like a child. I love it this way."

"Me too."


	27. Chapter 27

They remained as shut-ins in their home for about three weeks, but once that twenty-first day ended, they departed for West. As it was a decent amount of miles away from North, Antithesis and Tyrant decided to—heavily reluctantly—enlist the help of Ulterior. After a bit of low-key flirting and Tyrant bashing a chair against a wall, he agreed to lend them the little boat they'd used after departing from the Roundfield.

Tyrant had dressed in a simple all-black ensemble, and he'd dyed his hair back to his natural ash blonde. Makeup didn't cover his face—not that he needed it, of course. Antithesis wore a slightly more common version of a prison jumpsuit—a grey shirt with moderately tight grey pants. He'd dyed his hair back to his natural blue-black color, too, though part of his head was still visibly shaven.

Tyrant sat back against Antithesis, his head on his chest. Though he wasn't tired in the slightest, Tyrant did still act like a cat. It was nice to know that he was more comfortable around Antithesis, even if it was just when they were alone. Granted, he was like that in public, too, but not nearly as sweet. It was more theatrical. In West, however, it would disappear entirely.

Two hours made up the ride, and through it all, they remained in each other's arms. They'd departed around five in the afternoon, and though still bright, the sun began to slip closer and closer to the horizon. Even after they docked, Tyrant and Antithesis would have to go through a bit of security, especially due to where they were coming from. That would eat up another half hour or so, and getting to the business district of West would take a _fuck-ton_ longer. Night would overtake the sky by the time they reached Kunihiro.

"How long does customs take?" Antithesis asked.

Tyrant shrugged. "Dunno for sure. Mine's been different every time. Could take anywhere from fifteen minutes to fifty minutes. Basically, we dock the boat, and they search the boat. If they approve, we go onto security checks. If we fail, we leave. But since nothing can physically be hidden in this, we should be fine. For the actual customs, we get strip-searched—though no up-the-ass sort of shit. Then we head to a desk, and there we give our real names. Despite being in North, we're still registered in their databases. Sneaky shit, they do. Since we're both originally born in West, they should be a little more lax with us. If we were both natives of North, they wouldn't be so kind."

"Would that be ideal for me, though? Since I escaped prison?"

"Nah, that won't matter. You were technically in North when you escaped, so West has no say in it. Besides, you were in on a rape charge, right?A single 'rape' of another man means less than a single 'rape' of a woman. Bunch of bullshit, but that's how it goes."

"You sound like you're familiar."

"Mmm-hmm. I am. I almost got raped once."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was...sixteen, I think. Mildly ephebophilic teacher."

"Ephebophilic?"

"Like a pedophile but for teens. Anyway, he tried raping me in detention, but I managed to escape."

"How?"

"Put a staple through his eye and dick. Went to court for it, actually, but neither of us got much punishment. I got a fine and he got about a year or two in prison. Don't know what happened to the bastard, though."

"Sounds terrible."

"It was, for a time. That got me thinking about shit, and that's when I realized my comfortable bisexuality."

"Why comfortable?"

"Because I'm accepting of it. These days, more and more I'm leaning toward uneasy homosexuality. But then I remember how lovely tits can be, and I feel comfortable yet again. Don't worry, though. I won't leave you."

"I don't see why you would. Women are awful."

He flicked Antithesis's forehead. "You're right, but that's mean. It's kinda a shame that you're a fag. We could have some _excellent_ three- and foursomes otherwise."

"Fuck you," he spat. "If I wasn't gay I probably wouldn't be that interested in you. I'd get distracted."

"Bullshit," Tyrant denied. "I look like a girl. You'd love me either way."

He wasn't wrong.

* * *

Tyrant's estimate proved correct, and the total security check took roughly forty-five minutes. The officer who performed Antithesis's search half-flirted with him the entire time, much to Antithesis's annoyance. Tyrant was searched next to him, and his officer was extremely rough with him. Based on how Tyrant responded to his questions, there was a slight sense of familiarity between them. Could that have been the guard he'd assaulted and ejaculated on? No, if that was the case, Tyrant would have been rearrested instantly. If that was the same person, he was terrible at facial recognition.

They took an aboveground train from the docks to the business district, an hour-long ride that sent the sun further down in the darkening sky. They got off in a section full of tall buildings and busy people. Suits covered most of them, whether men or women, though some of the latter wore skirts on their bottom halves. Streetlights glowed above, along with brightness from office windows.

As they walked down the street, Tyrant and Antithesis received looks that ranged from unease to oddity. Most of those looks were aimed at Tyrant, whose hair, despite being far less extravagant than usual, was a far cry from the normalcy promoted in West. Antithesis's wasn't, either, but it was less noticeable.

Kunihiro worked somewhere in the middle of the district, though Antithesis didn't know what type of business he worked in. He was a creature of habit, though, and Antithesis knew that he left at about nine, and it was inching closer to nine right now.

Antithesis led the way to the familiar building, and he managed to catch a glimpse of his brother leaving the building. At a quicker pace, he and Tyrant followed Kunihiro down the streets. When he stopped, Antithesis placed a hand on his shoulder. Kunihiro turned, and his eyes widened.

"You're alive?" he asked.

"Come with me," Antithesis said. He nodded to a nearby alley. "I want to talk in private."

His older brother stared at him with hesitance, but nevertheless he accompanied Antithesis into the alley. Tyrant followed behind.

Antithesis took him quite deep into the alley, deep enough that they wouldn't be disturbed by anyone on the streets. Tyrant stood a bit further away, watching in relative silence.

"Who's that?" Kunihiro asked, pointing to Tyrant.

"It doesn't matter," Antithesis replied.

"You piece of shit," Tyrant spat.

Antithesis sighed. "He's my current lover. I met in him North."

"North?"

"Yeah, that's were I've been for the past few months. I escaped going to the Tombs."

"So you can rape more people?" Kunihiro hissed bitterly.

"I didn't _rape_ him," Antithesis hissed back. "He got scared and claimed it was rape to avoid judgment."

"Bullshit, he did. You're just a monster and a disgrace. Nothing else to it."

Narrowing his eyes, Antithesis balled his hand into a fist and struck Kunihiro in the face. He fell to the ground, and Antithesis followed atop him. He lifted his brother by his shirt and continued beating him. Kunihiro tried fighting back, but to little avail—Antithesis was far stronger.

Something hard and blunt struck the side of Antithesis's head, and Antithesis fell onto his side. He lifted his head, but another blow sent him back to the ground. Something that felt like a booted foot smashed his chest, knocking all breath out of his lungs. Antithesis hacked and heaved, trying to recover from the devastating blow.

"What the _fuck_ do you think this is?!" Tyrant berated.

Antithesis rose to a crouch and scowled at Tyrant. "What? Is it so wrong to hurt him after he's hurt me so much?"

"This isn't North, Antithesis! You can't just beat people savagely and expect to get away with it here! I don't give a shit what he's done to you—you're not a fucking child!"

Though still bubbling with rage, Antithesis knew he was right. With a sigh he rose from the ground and pulled up his brother.

"Sorry for that. I let myself go too far." He sighed once more, then said, "Look, I didn't come to try to make things better. You probably can see that." He gestured to the bruise swelling on Kunihiro's cheek. "But I didn't really come to make shit worse, either. I just wanted to tell you where I ended up. I doubted you were worried, but in case you were wondering what had happened, here I am. Feel free to relay it to our parents, if you want."

"You're still a piece of shit," Kunihiro said. "But at least you're a bit more sensible." He flashed a glance at Tyrant. "And your taste in partners is still terrible."

Tyrant spat at his chest.

Antithesis smiled.


	28. Chapter 28

"Yo, Antithesis!"

He looked up from making coffee, and he was met with the sight of a shirtless Tyrant with pure white hair. He slid next to Antithesis and pecked his cheek.

"What do you want?" Antithesis asked.

"Your dick in my ass. But that's not 'til later. For now, I want to ask you something."

"I do too."

"Ooh, really? You go first. Mine's probably more serious."

"Why white?" Antithesis asked, running his fingers through Tyrant's hair.

"Oh, that? Well, that actually relates to _my_ question."

"And it is?"

"You know what I think?"

"Is that the question?"

"Yes, but it's followed by a suggestion. So, I'll say it again, know what I think?"

"What do you think, Tyrant?" Antithesis asked.

"I think…" He placed his hands behind his back and walked about in a circle. "I think...that...we...should…" He hummed, a faux-nonchalant expression on his face.

"You think that we should…?" Antithesis moved his hand in a circle and stared back with a faux-interested expression."

"I _think_...that we should _really…_ " He flipped his hair in front of his face, then flipped it back behind. "Get married!"

Antithesis stared at him. "Married? You're serious?"

"Do I look like I'm not?"

"Kinda."

"Shut up." He leaned against the counter and drummed on it with his fingers. "I mean it, Antithesis. I wanna marry you."

"Why does it matter what you want? We can't get married anyway."

"Yeah, we can!" Tyrant said happily. "North's constitution doesn't say _anything_ about what's classified as 'marriage' up here. If I really wanted to, I could get married to the coffee pot. But you're more comfortable to sleep with." He winked.

Antithesis rolled his eyes. "I'm glad I outweigh a pot that makes liquid. Anyway, do we really _need_ to get married? After all, we know ourselves that we're in love with one another."

"Maybe I just want an excuse to have a party and wear fancy clothes," Tyrant suggested ever so lightly. "And _maybe_ I want to see my lover dressed the same way." He patted Antithesis's chest. "You'd look nice in a suit, Antithesis."

"Oh, I look _extremely_ good in a suit. But I hate weddings. They take too long."

"Then we'll have a short ceremony and a _really_ long party. Come on, Antithesis, _please_?"

Antithesis rolled his eyes. "You're insane."

"I know, but I'm also in _love_!" He hugged Antithesis tightly. "Let me marry you!"

"Fuck off!"

"No! Say 'yes!'"

Antithesis wore a look of annoyance, but inside he felt warm. As annoying as Tyrant was, he was still extremely sweet and loving. The prospect of marriage just solidified how dedicated Tyrant truly was to his love for Antithesis. He'd feel like a bastard if he tore that solidity down.

"Fine," Antithesis sighed. "I'll marry you."

"Yes!" Tyrant exclaimed, hugging him tighter. "I fucking love you!"

Antithesis smiled and held him close. "I love you, too."

And for the first time in a long time, he meant it.


End file.
